Tuesday, 31 January 2012

You Know I Look Like A Woman

What if Jack had also been Jamie’s creation?

More tension to stick in the trick bag and just dunk my head in, holding my hair, nails teasing the back of my skin.

It was as of Jamie was the Willy Wonka behind the Willy Wonka. As if I was being led and fed with candy from the hands of a man who was another man.

It always amused me how sometimes Jamie would sit after recording on the sofa and just stare at me in silence, focused, not moving, breathing harder, most likely battling the imagery in head and knowing that despite what he wants, I won’t just go over and unzip his jeans prior to going on top of him and saying how hard he is.

He is hard indeed. Once I just pressed my head against his neck and he said nothing. He just looked at me and kept his mouth away, his lips opened and his tongue seen slightly. I opened my own mouth and I wanted to go on top, I wanted him to kiss my chest and just raise the t-shirt above us and he’d stare at my body.

He’d go inside, not taking the jeans off, still nervous off a barrier and he’d thrust inside me. I’d moan.

And I look at Jack with his curly hair taking a pint and getting it down. I hesitate with my own and just stare at his.

It seems to quiet with all the noises and Jack’s hat seems to give away to much, but he doesn’t mind it sitting, maybe we’re not that famous after all, you just sit and not get anything a day no matter what happens and you can drink pint after pint.

I just light a cigarette to just tear off my nervousness and I glance at the bartender and he has Jamie’s hair cut and his tired look after a long day, so I watch him give Jack another drink.

“Did you.” He clears his throat, plays with his hat and asks me for a cigarette. I light it. “Ever have something with Jamie?”

I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I smile. Smile. Nod, wave.

“N-no. I thought both of you talked.” About me. I could’ve added, but instead I take a longer drag feeling the taste stick to my tongue, but it’s fine, I’m not kissing anyone and those who I kiss also have this glue on their mouths. Jack shrugs.

“Yeah. Just wanted to know your opinion.” And he breaths out the smoke fast, his fingers brushing the glass and he coughs slightly. I throw an arm around him and he leans closer to me. I look at his eyes and once you age boys don’t just have the dumb look in their eyes before your lips meet. Jack does.

It is dumb, but there’s something naive in it as if We’re Gonna Be Friends is going in his head as he sees me scattered on his bed in a pond of our fluids and I move my hands through the water as he barely breaths from thrusting and fuck, it’s good, and I put my hands on my legs.

I take out my tongue.

He grabs my head and pulls me into that kiss.

He tastes like I do.

I get my hand in his hair as his hands replace my own.

And travel up my legs to find the zipper to just tug it playfully.

He goes to my neck and sucks on it slightly. I take off his hat and I know that we can collapse onto the floor and the rugs scattered can cover us, so that the feet of the walking people won’t really bother us.

“I want you.” He says and leans back, the gaze softer, more intense and burning as I brush the front of his legs and hit his button with a nail.

I look to see the Jamie bartender watching so I keep my eyes open and I stick my tongue inside.

I rub the inside of Jack’s shirt, laughing a bit and feeling Jamie take me by the shoulders and yank me up.


And I see him, shorter than me, wrinkles slightly showing and I laugh and Jack covers his eyes, to hide the friends with candy intensions and smiles, maybe knowing.

“Jamie will never go for you.” To which Hince just stares at both of us. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide the shock from puking out and I just stroke Jamie’s hair and I take off my shirt, exposing my shirt, no bra and I wait for him to touch to which he just strokes a nipple and takes his hand off and turns around jumping twice.

I think I am on the floor with the liquids being alcohol.

“Jamie will never go for you.” And Jack would thrust in, but he holds, tracing his fingers on my back, nearly digging them in like his fighting cock with the zipper and eager to get any hole around.

So I go on my knees, crying.

I stand up.

I don’t take his cock in my mouth instead I press him against the wall, holding his shoulders and his cock eagerly searching for my vagina, so I let that organ touch with the layers of fabric.

I wonder how hard would it be to choke a man and how would Jamie look and how he would visit me as I would look orange and maybe then he would kiss me or even have sex fast as he would go inside me again and I would keep shiver, crying, shaking that this way be the only time.

I think after every time he touched me I always cried besides out first when he fell asleep in his sweater and boxers around one leg and I touched his nipple, his chest and he would open his eyes from while to while to grin a hello and then pull me towards him.

“I love you, Alison.” He’d say and we would just turn around.

“I love you, Alison.” Was what he said yesterday.

And what I had washed off with whisky.

“And what I had washed off with whisky.” And I throw the pint near Jack’s head and he ducks his curls, the glass breaking into his hat and he just takes my head and knocks it against the wall, it’s not harmful but it aches and I scream taking his hair and crying.

Jamie loves me.

And I cry.

And Jack just takes me out and holds me as I cry into his hat with glasses and I take a piece and it sticks to my mouth and I think I’m bleeding.

“But I think he loves me.” I cry and I see the shorter man patting my head and walking off as Jack would just go inside and fill me up for a bit.

He drags me out and we go in a pharmacy. I watch him go to the counter, look around as I sit on one of the chairs for older people and I just count the amount of red boxes I see everywhere as I sit up to curl into a ball and chant my love’s name all over, as I see Jack ask for red condoms.

“I’m on the pill.” I croak and I cry harder. “Fucking fill m-me up!” And I scream and the assistant suggests some pills and Jack says that I’m on alcohol so I don’t know if I get medication of not. All I want is liquid to be everywhere so I wonder if we should shag as he pours hot water from the kettle so that I wouldn’t be able to distinguish who is touching me Jack or Jamie and please, please on my eyes, so whoever I see will be Jamie.

And my mouth, the insides so that when I kiss Jack I know it will be Jamie and the vagina, the insides, split my body in the middle, rip it open and pour the water in so that anything I will love with be Jamie and I will be breathing his carbon dioxide.

And I keep crying as Jack leaves me on the bed and takes a shot, discarding his clothes. I think he starts crying as well, watching me write Jamie’s name with pillows and he tells me he won’t ever love me and I scream that he said I love you.

“Me! HE MEANT ME!” And I cry to which Jack just goes in the bed and put my head on his lap, then takes me under the armpits as if I am a teddy bear and my nose is against his, he kisses me, holds the lips together.

“I love you.” And he stretches the I, making sure that I know it’s him and he tucks me in against his body and turns on television and we watch Gossip Girl for a bit, just because he knows I like it and I smile at all of them having their drama and I sob a bit as Jack feels bored and even falls asleep before the break, but still firmly holding me in his arms.

As he falls on the bed, I want to stand up and stare at my own face as a reflection, but he holds me, slightly holding his eyes open and pulling me into a kiss which makes him shake out of fear that we might not be friends, so I just go back and the covers wrap us around like our little ship to sleep.

He takes the hair off my eyes.


“I love you.” I say. Quiet. And he nods, kissing my forehead and he goes on his back, undoing his jeans with my hands, maybe he is controlling me, maybe Jamie is filming this with a camera and doing polaroids to wank to, to hang around his room and laugh at both of us, drinking whine.

So I cry and I take off Jack’s clothes to which he strokes my now naked body above and I tell him I love him again.

He is bigger than Jamie.

I go on up and down, my hair in the way and Jack holds the hair until he shifts and I’m on the bottom and I look up, even terrified that Jack White is fucking me, in and out, so I feel like a ghost, I pretend that I am a ghost and Jack strokes my body, leans closer to ask how to please me to which he touches my clit, licks my breasts and I just look up.

“What do you like?” I ask him with a small smile.

Jamie doesn’t matter.

Jack fills me in as I scream and Jack gets a boner from that as well, as we keep shifting from top to bottom as the liquid doesn’t even have enough time to flow, but it’s there, filling me up and I wonder if we’ll have a kid and Jack grins at me as I am on top or if he is on top.

It doesn’t matter.

Jamie doesn’t matter.


Fills me in.

Fills me in.


Here is the Jack/Alison as requested which is more of a triangle in the end.

I had the idea of taking that rumored fight they had, didn't end up much of a fight, no?

The title was the struggle as I am sleepy and I forgot the initial idea and after some fiddling, here's the first line of The Dead Weather's I Cut Like A Buffalo.

I hope you enjoyed it!

5th February 2012

Monday, 30 January 2012


I thought I dreamt of something silver.

So I just rubbed a bit of the corner of my eye, thinking to just sit up, but i kept myself in bed, wrapping the covers firmly against my body, a numb ache coming from the stomach but I just tried to ignore it, the words staring to build in my head and I played with the thoughts of standing up and drinking milk.

It would silver if spilt.

So I would sit in the kitchen, wondering what else would be silver, but I just wrapped the covers tighter, eyes held open, not blinking, my hand sketching with the fingertip on my knee.

I ended up sitting up and wondering what to do once I flicked on the light and just put my knees closer to my chest, trying not to think about anything but the insomnia now drawn on my knee and how silver would I feel if I would just fall back onto the bed and wrap myself up even tighter.


A Kurt Cobain short fan fiction as requested by an anon.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you!

Sunday, 29 January 2012


I think I was suffocating that night.

I just recall laying in bed and watching the lights hum slightly as day and night seemed to shift, alcohol was wearing off, insomnia dancing and no reason to wake tomorrow were just keeping my eyelids firmly open.

There is a buzzing in my head as I think I am getting questioned and the fact that there were drugs on the table near the bed mattered and a quick nod to the same officer did nothing.

I had an alibi and we both knew I never killed her. I sat on the doorstep, the cigarette in my hands dissolving into ashes and hopefully Amy would follow the trail to my fingers.

I bought her the drums she played, maybe that explains my head aches.

And all of it resembles, well, the walls do, as I watch the shadows try to close my eyes. I sit up and I see her playing the drums again and she’s telling me something and I see a bowl with water in it.

She sticks her fingers in the water, hair holding above her eyes, and her skin is wet as she takes the burning fag out and inhales.

I see her taking teeth with honey out and chewing them in half.

It doesn’t look like her.

But then it doesn’t look like me either and I feel the need to look at the ceiling where her hands play with the curtains of the night.

And the feel of the day I believe should come soon and I’ll be sitting in the kitchen just staring at the balcony, feeling the future go on and consume me and maybe I’ll be the next one with drugs being my wings to death.

Maybe she’ll go out of the fridge laughing and pour alcohol on me and then she’ll just sit crosslegged talking about something, pouring liquid straight into my mouth. I will squirt it out of my mouth and it’ll go through her.

“I’m dead.” And we’ll drink to that. I’ll go downstairs to the small grocery, get milk, come back and I think the day will be over and I’ll hear drums again.

And I’ll ask her to play with her and she’ll put her drumsticks away. She won’t drum again.

She’ll just stand up.

And I’ll want a drink.

A pint.

Maybe I’ll want to take the ceiling for myself.

Maybe I’ll shoo her with a broom, laughing.

But she won’t laugh.

She’ll be dead.

She’ll be fucking dead up to the point that I’ll be able to go and poke her with my feet with her realtives staring and I will kick her in the ribs, harder and ahrder, waiting for blood to go out, but nothing will, the flesh will just bend and she’ll lay still.

I’ll take the corpse and put her around my neck.

I’ll wear her.

Yeah, I would.

I light a fag.

I exhale.

She closes the curtains on the ceiling and the ashes fly, scatter and fuck

I make out with the fag.

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Silencio 2

Since then I sit in my hotel room wondering which banging door could be him after all?

To light.

To hard.


And my head is spinning from mere thought and I stay in the room with my legs crossed along with my arms, I think I hear guitar playing but I’m not sure if it would be a guitar or a can of yoghurt.

I washed my teeth after the kiss, maybe so that he won’t smell himiself ar the glance, maybe I am trying to put evidence after eidence.

What the fuck am I saying, so all I do is just fall on my bed wondering if some bits of cock might be left after all, as if-

I think I drant too much.

I don’t want to ehead outside.

I want to be young, a kid and sit cheering fro Nicky who had potention seems to get nowjere with his dreams, maybe that’s what I want to do, spy on Nick, when we were at an ange to give answers and it had been amusing listen to something which won’t happen, like that day when I had been just saying that I didn’t just like girls and I think Mass sailed that and it’s Like

my god


And I thik I see Nicky ebloew me


So I yank his head off and I know that I am clutching air, so I hide it and I keep hands closed.


closed for what for a Nicky and the guitar playing I hear.

It just pisses me off how you can never guess who is playing after all and when it’s like a blindfokd when all is yur presebt

It’s like not knowing the world



I am at the door and I just wobble without any alchohol as I;ve just losen my virginity at this motherfucking age, so I just knock on the door. Nothing.

I knock


Maybe I should just open the door, put the package on the mat and wait for it to eb delvered to trh wrony riyhc,

So I knock again and I hear him ebhidn me, but I don’t turn insteas my lips say something like blow job and Nicky kisses me.

Maybe it’s doesn’t matter anymore if I’m old or young, maybe all that rneeed rifgt O


You look like a penguin and fuck



I think your hand is in my pants so I press against the hand/

I’m too

Well, I just see the sex scene and the brief wuld do the lieke wtinning area

and it’s scary

and Nicky screams and I have him inside me, I say nothing as it leaks out.




I cover my head under the pillow and it doesn’t matter, I think he’s seen the scars and he traces them with his fingers, I wonder if he’ll puke from fuck what can he -

My imagery and I think he takes off the pillw and he kisses me anyway. Maybe his daughter won’t walk along him to school again because ths is like national television.

You get seen and people hate you just because their son didn’t make it and I guess now it is Wire’s mouth again. I don’t now. It’s not alchohol it’s frustration as I just well, hold my ahds still and he tries to find a tattoo with some removed and he finds the generation and I just close my eyes.


I hope you enjoyed this small fragment!

The typos are intentional.


Hell Hates You

Wednesday, 25 January 2012

Maternal Instinct

It’s a blink
When instead of a typewriter, typewriter
Which is what goes through your head
You actually want living things to crawl out of you
And not just dead spermatozoids after sex
(That’s sexy though)
It’s more like you glance at the person
(Male gender in this case)
And you glance glance glance
That’s the thing which will give your kids the shape of their legs
And blink
You want to be a mum all of a sudden
Instead of that typewriter, typewriter
And blowjobs become sexy
And the dead spermatozoids
That you want them all over your body
And you want those kids
Those kids you’d think you’d die giving birth
To that man who’d stroke your hair
And fucking kiss your forehead
You’d both grin
As you’d both be pregnant one day.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 4

Jaidem snore laughed in his sleep, mumbling stuff about bees, lakes and jumping tuna bears in the far off distances tasting, licking the sticky lemon sun with its minty clouds clinging to it like-



Hash took over.

Run, run, run. Love’s eating you.

Along with the girl in lace holding it in her hands, her lips brushing off your bruises, her eyes taking away the fabric, hands raising yours and meeting gazes.



“It’s not salty.” She says and takes some salt, taking the lid off and throwing quite an amount while laughing, brushing each other’s lace off, because you can’t chew with a mouth full of lace. Unless you want to choke and die bent in two, as the moon meets yours in a quick state of utter trance, resembling something you’ve never felt but always wanted to, because then judging quotes, life would have got dyed, drained and turned into something it is today.

Macy exhales, you laugh.

You realize it’s you with the wanting feel of Jaidem’s auburn hair, crooked but now repaired teeth and fucking crazy smile turning into a snarl of disgust by the amount of opposite salt combined with sweet scent of cookies from nowhere and images of flying hoax saucers on the walls compared to the eyes in front , which are not and will not be a hoax.

Because I’m the hoax,

I laugh,

Macy inhales.

I exhale for her with her mouth in mine, twice.

Salty. Zaltee.

It’s nothing fancy, because the word has lost all its meaning with my endless desire of not touching the stove and watching the same lazy as me customers digging out bank notes, cards or low excuses on the table with empty plates.

But it’s different because I’ve got Macy thinking about being vegan or not. I’ve decided about myself long ago, so the question is long dropped and I never pursue anybody like Jaidem said he liked to do, back when he was alive.

“What?” I asked, rocking myself back and forth after a role denial. I seemed to get quite an amount lately and they seemed to lead to nervous smoking with no cigs involved even between the lines, streets, cars and bandaged pavements.

“When somebody else was, with auburn hair and piercing eyes.” He gestured to a sandy and blue coloured pearl on his sleeve and the appearing steak and several hairs showing on his chin under his crooked sad grin.

“Did you kill him?” My eyes were rusty from the lack of sleep, too wired by coffee to fall down and impossible to blink the fear of failure away. My jaw trembled in a nice bumpy rhythm with my hands. I closed my mouth with my hands, a gesture shown as shock in different scenes. “You fucking killed him?!”

My voice broke into several echoes around the room, as I grabbed my hair, trying to pull it out like loose strings in a broken walking on two legs pillow.

“What? No, no-” He catches my stare. Brings out a cancer stick, lights it for the dramatically effect. He’s mocking me. “You can put it one way.”

“You fucking killed him?!” I hiss, turning my face towards him ready to pounce on him and take the guy’s life back.

“Auburn suits me, doesn’t it, Devyn?” He spits the words at my face. Before I make my move towards him, he raises his hand, runs several fingers on my throat, feeling something until I choke and a pearl is caught between my lips. My lips are numb and do nothing until he takes the pearl away from my mouth. Jaidem takes out a needle, a string and a pair of scissors and sews the pearl onto his sleeve. “I was going to help you, you fool. Well, die then, like you were s’posed to then.”

I stand up and he watches me the beard on his face growing with the length of his auburn hair turning gray and back blonde in the next second. I take out a gun from the drawer, it’s suppose to be a stage gun. I take it and aim at Jaidem. He raises an eyebrow and blows a smoke ring in my direction.

I shoot.

A pearl rolls on the floor, hitting a wall with a drawn mouse hole. I want a mouse. I want mice to eat his brains out, eat his raw flesh with the leaking lust blackening the world.
“I killed too many, Devyn to die just like that.” He takes the bullet out of his chest, poking the heart in the process as the wound heals. Jaidem smiles weakly, closing his eyes for a second, rolling himself into a big green ball with growing red facial hair.

“Like nothing bad happens to a bastard?”

“Yeah.” Hesitation. “Until he gets to hell.”

He shivers. I throw the gun away and throw a blanket over him, burying him in my thoughts and list of good people, because he is a murder.

I am a murderer too.

I kill feelings.

With that trigger I kill motions, feelings sprayed on the stage as I come out filled with hay, throwing it up attracting everyone with my skinny bones and high cheekbones shredded by painful papercuts as I scream to my death in the final scene.

Of the sequel.

“You can’t show a suicide. It’s not real. It has to be real, sorry. It’s hard?”

“Is that a decline?”

“No. Fuck no.”

So what you do next is hesitate while learning the phrases the way you should lay with the hay behind you, the way the hands should be raised, the length of the hair and the improvising ideas in my head. I want to shave it to leave the lace in the hay with needles as I could stitch my skin with blood leaking down my skin, mixing with sweat, spit, tears and screams as the suicide commences.

It should be a mixture of emotions.

Jaidem watches me closely, as I lay on the rug with hay scattered.

“Then I cut my hair.”

“Then I swallow the bullet.” I say gesturing upon my tongue the fingers trailing deeper as if I’m going to swallow them, savor them and walk with the lack of two fingers lingering in my stomach or rather transformed and nothing left rather than the thought.

Like after a suicide.

Only the thoughts reminding of the people, because the body is long rotten.

Because we are disgusted by anything rotten, even love as we grimace while savoring it raw.

Wild Charms

Smear me in silver, as I watch your fingertips slowly getting into the liquid, as I shiver expecting the cold as you trace the paint upon my lips and I swallow a bit.

You kiss me and you swallow the cold too.

I keep grinning for a bit and you just play with a hair also for a bit.

The silence seems to be awkward with no music around besides my sudden humming and the bright sparkles now from my sweater.

It’s our first halloween and your hands are trembling a bit too much.

We’ve just kissed a few times and I know about your divorce, so we just smoke instead and it feels like sex.

I don’t mind it, raising my hands, telling you that this is what I’ve had for years and years, a bit too loud, eyes looking up and you just kiss me again, your tongue slowly making your way in.

I think your kids are hidden, like the insides of a pumpkin we just threw out.

They’re at Karen’s. Kate is at Jamie’s and we’re in between smearing silver paint over my face, because I didn’t come up with a costume but I wanted to be in silver with an old black sweater which most likely I’ve stolen from Jamie back when I thought myself to be cold and he’d just shove it in my hands just when his whole idea came along.

“M?” I don’t say anything and you just stand up to wrap your arms around me, nuzzle my neck with your nose and I still fee-

No, I don’t. So I try to ease but I still feel the flirtation with tension on stage and how your lips were sacred and I would touch them and you would flinch, as I were Jamie now and you were my Alison, only I wanted to bang you badly, badly.

“Same.” and you start biting my neck. It feels like I’m losing virginity for the first time, but knowing that once it’s in, you just grin and that’s it. Your love doesn’t change, well, it grows, but there is no massive throw, it’s hidden at first, the care, God, it just swallows you.

Like grabbing straight after an orgasm and holding tight, maybe crying, maybe not, I don’t know yet, all I know is that I want a hug, so I hug you, tight.

And you smile and we’re back at our shy pace and I wonder if we’ll just keep it up by touching ourselves to each other.

We go upstairs and I wonder how long would you take to brush your teeth and I keep thinking of you. My fingers slip down and I touch myself. I want you to watch. And you do. You sit on the edge of the bed as my cheeks go red and I just don’t feel my age as your hand travels up my thigh and fuck, I moan, you shiver slightly.

“Stop being so nervous.” And I sit up grabbing you and we glance fast, making sure that we’re both nervous and collapse on the bed, making out and I forget about the silver on my face as you take it off with your fingers and leave love bites of it on the sheets as you thrust.

I’m still nervous, I think or maybe I convince myself.

I think I start hearing my own humming in the morning and I wake nervous with Jack. It still feels like it’s still the act and everything just seems to fly off and I wonder if it will snow this october.

And it feel isolated. I don’t know.

Maybe it’s a dream but the bed is stained and there is silver everywhere even when I close my eyes with my hands and I smile through them.

I don’t know if I want you to wake up or not, maybe I want to leave you dying there and then just crawl to your grave on the funeral, maybe get buried with you, but most likely I’ll stand like in that wedding only the lovers go under ground this time.

I just sit there and I think you’re awake and you stare back, half your face is under the covers.

It feels like this will forever be awkward, so I just try to find some clothes and I think I shake just like you did and you keep watching me, already dressed, as I get into the kitchen.

It’s too empty.

I get orange juice.

I get you orange juice too.

I don’t think


it shouldn’t be this empty.

And I wake you up again. I have the idea of pouring orange juice all over you and liking it, but I don’t tell, just yet and I just rub your shoulder slightly. You wake up and we suggest each other finishing the pumpkins even if Halloween is over, it doesn’t feel like it. I think we should make it a week and get more paint.

Fuck, get the whole house in paint.

I ruffle your hair.

Smile, I smile.

“Winter.” I say later my back against your body as you lay, your eyes sometimes cheating to look on something else to ease you. I take your hand.

“What about it?” You ask and I just well, keep talking. “Just saw winter really. Dunno.”

We both keep silent, holding hands, maybe looking at the same wall.

And I look back.

I think I hear Jamie sing. I think I am sitting in front of him and he is singing. He has keys.

It’s nostalgia.

Or maybe it’s the next soundtrack on reverse.

You don’t love two.

You love the second, there was something wrong with the first.


An Alison/Jack request by an anon.

Sorry, took two days to write as I've been a bit exhausted and a bit short on time, but I'm here and fuck, I love it. XD

Why Wild Charms? The last bit with Jamie came up as I was listening to Wild Charms and it just seemed appropriate, really.

<3 You Know I Look Like A Woman

Tuesday, 24 January 2012


It’s about the bagpipe.

It’s about even having the thought of someone sitting next to it and I watch people drop coins.

Meg takes a photo of me sitting,

The man behind me

And the buildings scraping off the sky.


Today it's a short poem, inspired.

I'm working on an Alison/Jack piece which will be up for tomorrow!

Thank you!

<3 Moonage Daydream

Monday, 23 January 2012


I sit on the stairs, my head against the walls and I hear the strumming of the guitar going harder and sometimes I hear screams from below.

My hair is now short again.

Maybe because then I believed in something and when I had opened the door the thoughts of him kissing me flashed through my mind.

I shouldn’t have nodded at that time when we were both smoking and then stabbing out my cigarette on the wallpaper with trembling hands I had taken your head and slammed your lips against my own. You had kissed me back.

Don’t deny it, you bloody kissed me back.

I look at the pink in front of my eyes. Did I dye it because Kate wouldn’t dye it pink? Or because I wouldn’t dye it pink? I see myself crying again.

You fucking kissed me back.

You fucking did.

I slam my hand against the wall.

I slam my hand harder.

Music, music, music, I had just nodded.

“You kissed me.” I mumbled, remembering how I just pressed you against the sill and I wondered if we would fall out of the window, but then you just shifted me from it, a quick look in your eyes I believe matching the size of your erection.

Does Kate even turn you on?

I have more breasts than she does.

Or maybe not.

So I have less breasts. But he fucked me. Ok, he fucked her too and that bump is evidence of some Hince-Moss combination.

I start crying harder.

You had wanted me.


I remember how your old jeans felt and how that sweater of yours felt I had taken off. I remember how I licked your waist before taking you in my mouth and that exhale of yours when I swallowed and you apologized.

I remember that week you kept giving me orange juice after blow jobs.

I remember we hadn’t done any music and I don’t think we left anywhere and you had a girlfriend and I tried not to think about it.

You tried not to think about it. I just look down.

You wrote the last good bye for me, didn’t you?

Well you did a fucking great job and I stab the cigarette against the wall instead of my fist.


I actually wrote this one a few days ago when I had another request and I had been dying to write some Jamie/Alison. Today's written Jack poem will be tomorrow, maybe with something else, I don't know:3


Sunday, 22 January 2012

The Killer Stripes

It’s about the tension.

It’s like a dance on the stage and once the connection is broken you just grab the girl by the arm even if we are not so young at least that’s what Kate brags about and throws some cream at me that I have to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at it.

I sit up and head to her closet and I do enjoy looking at how ripped her jeans may be or how swirly the heels might be and how her feet size wouldn’t fit mine if I don’t try. I just like sitting against her heels and waiting until she realizes that I am gone.

Once I wanted to bang Alison here, I recall how she just laughed at the open heels she would never wear. I remember we tried putting on Kate’s heels and she laughed. I can’t say they hate each other that badly, it’s more bout Alison being content with her being the face I see when I ejaculate and Kate being the hole which is fucked.

Maybe then all is content and I watch Alison kiss me on the forehead and I hold myself, it’s so long that I don’t have to hold myself that long so all I do is smile and quickly kiss her on the lips.

Keep the tension.

Keep the tension.

And she smiles a bit shyly and Kate offers tea and exists, she knows I don’t shag Alison, I didn’t meantion that one time and she’s calm and it had been at the start of these years, so all can be erased and blamed on a dream.

So I grin.

“Um.” And she smiles more her pink hair too bright and I know how intense it is. “DJack likes me?”

I recall this talk I had with Jack once about women, he kept Meg away after all until no music could be produced from the female and the thing was Alison was taking too long and the more I teased the more I would get from her voice, from her body, so I never married, a mistake Jack did, he kept it a bit but the thing is, Jack is quite different.

The talk was about that we didn’t like innocent women, innocent would not want you to be in them, while Meg and Alison, did, they were childish, as if they were younger than the bonds would break and there was a trace of naivety in them.

And I just look at her. Jack wants the tension in his own band. Fucker.

“Sorry?” And I just look at Alison, I think I’ve sold my soul for a donut and music, well, it had been worth it.

“D-do you think Jack likes me?” Alison asks me and I just smile briefly, I’m sure there is a story behind this, so I just make myself more comfortable and I wonder what would have happened if Jack had been playing. He would have held himself.

But if there was no Meg?

Well, I suppose he would open the door and look at the girl with the cropped hair in front of him and he would smile.

“Um. Hi.” And Alison just smiles even more, her heart going two beats, is that the description I should choose? And the girl’s cheeks go red and Jack just smiles, maybe the guitar still in his hand and he invites her over.

“I like your playing.” Alison would say. She would around on the room. She would notice the posters and the plastic guitar, she would like it. I think she would even ask him to play something, fiddle with her fringe and listen to him playing, quickly thinking how would their kids look like and how would their music sound.

Maybe Jack would invite her to dance after they would discuss all the vinyls he has and the bands they have both heard of and Jack would have a wide grin and would glance on Alison’s mouth.

Maybe they would depart with a grinning silence and Jack would think when would they meet even if he knew that they were in the same hotel room.

He would sleep, his subconscious growing on the thoughts of them dancing closer, her lips spreading out and how he would just-

“Did you guys fuck?” I ask Alison and she just smiles and looks down, her pink fabric covering her face and I do not attempt to move anything, I just stare at her and I wonder how would another relation affect The Kills. I know how to control tension.

I wonder if she had my face when she came and Jack just collapsed on top of her.

“Well. I thin-think he does. Do you?” Alison repeats the question again and I start playing with these green heels Kate wore last night and they don’t seem so new anymore. I don’t look up.

Maybe Jack took her hand and they danced after all to some vinyl Jack liked. Maybe they just sat eating a pizza they ordered and talked about america. I don’t know. Maybe he just loves her. Maybe I don’t.

Maybe he just sat across Alison and just stared into her eyes, maybe he just confessed and asked if she were willing to wait for this british bloke who has a pregnant model. Maybe she wants kids as well and maybe there will be a little girl who was a mixture of Jack and Alison.

Maybe they’ll love her a lot and I won’t find my kid that good looking, maybe I will just, I don’t know, I have Kate’s daughter already and I have coloured random paintings of her and I have sat in that room with the drawings and I have thought how would it feel to finger Alison and just pressed my head against the desk.

I won’t do anything.

So I just leave the closet and Alison starts repeating the questions and Kate joins, grinning, knowing that now, the door is locked from both sides and that we just touch ourselves to each other and that the fluids won’t intteract to make a baby.

And then I just wonder what if I were Jack, I would stroke her hair and I would slowly go inside her.

God, I wish I were Jack. I wish I would be in a relation with her, I want to share that pizza they shared and throw popcorn on her head and bake those weird family cookies Jack always talks about when drunk that his mother used to cook on weekends if the sun shone right.

Jack is a great guy.

That’s why he marries his woman.

And I marry models to get cocktails and expensive beaches to poke my wife’s non-existant breats.

“I think he does, Alison.” You guys nearly make out on stage, but instead I light a cigarette and Kate just glances at me and takes it after one drag and I wonder if she would rather be doing cocaine instead, but instead I just look at Alison having a man and it depresses me.

It’s not something I can cut off unless I just strip her and, fuck, go inside her, but then maybe she will just get irritated and just well, break all of this and then come back crying, hopefully with legs spread out, sex to keep the tension.

“What happened?” I ask and Kate asks at the same time and all of a sudden I just don’t feel so good.

Jack was drumming.

Well, that’s what she says and she said she doesn’t get the knack of it and Jack just smiled, of course he would smile, it’s called I have a boner and I can use it, but only if you want to and I want to a lot, you’ve got a nice ass by the way.

He asked me if I would even have a relation with Alison and I just snapped no and told him not to. Jack just blinked surprised and chewed on his cigarette, exhaled and kept quiet, shifting the topic to some album he had heard.

I wish I would have slammed him against the wall and said that Alison was mine to fuck, that I touch her on stage and that no one sees her as naked as I do.

It’s not about the body.

It’s about how she orgasms on stage or during recordings and I just watch her in my arms and I kiss her brief and she just holds her eyes open and I want to touch her breasts even I have done so already, I have had her.


Basically I'm having quite a busy day tomorrow and fuck, fuck XD I'M MOVING XD THERE I'LL KEEP IT AT THAT AND FUCK, FUCK, FUCK
Gaaaah, so excited! Basically I'm not sure that this is the end of it and I've been given an Alison/Jamie request, so I might just continue this tomorrow or something new. Who knows!
Oh my God, nervous and excited! Basically I hope you enjoyed this and keep requesting.

<3 Wild Charms

Saturday, 21 January 2012


He looks like a whore.

He looks like a fucking whore and it’s funny, all of a sudden his tights seem

actually funny.

I look at the purple leopard tights and they do seem funny.

I feel wrong and I feel weird, my body now a normal weight.

I read too much and I tend to forget lately and I’m asking plots I do not recall.

I keep listening to the music and seems different.

I think-

Yeah, I kept


Chew gun


I think I keep looking at you way too much and the gun seems to be stuck to my teeth and I keep having a timer in my head. I wonder if the backstage pass I bought would be real and the girl never faked it.

He doesn’t seem funny any ore, he seems faceable and my mind is blocked.

My body is shaking too badly it’s not about the thought if I may or may not be a groupie it’s about the fear of image and how silent does the music feel and how the audience feels like air.

I love you.

And that should be the pass I’d show in what? Three songs.

Fuck. Just be there let me show it to your face, you, you, you.

Forgive me.

It’s like a dream, you have sex with your relative to forgive.

I forgive you for forgiving me.

I am a bit too chubby from eating fast food for a while and the insomnia as I’d stare into the ticket to just go backstage with facial hair and see James laugh.

They all giggle as I hold Nicky’s hand and my mustache feels big and heavy as if it were my body with weight.

It’s all too nervous and my voice seems to be like my thoughts.

So I am left with Nicky and I have never touched him before and we both feel old all of a sudden and maybe he believes in my death at twenty seven, so I just sit there with all the facial hair and then I start undressing myself. What if I am ugly indeed?

But Nicky just stares at me.

Suddenly I feel skinny again and I can see us again lying on his bed, gently touching the subject of sex and homosexuality in music.

Nicky remains silent and I don’t say anything.

I pull the mustache slightly, exposing my mouth.

I take out a razor from my pocket and I shave myself with trembling fingers and I think if I should touch my hair as well, if I should show myself how I were when he had seen me, but he just keeps looking at me.

Nicky lifts up his dress.

Maybe I am still a groupie.

I go on my knees and take his cock delightfully in my mouth, moaning, putting a hand to stroke myself as I lick him and I feel blood where my lips are. I can’t seem to stop even after he comes and he tells me to stop, I want him all.

I take off the sweater and he sees the tattoos.

He strokes my hair and thrusts reaching the back of my throat. I keep stroking the tip of my cock.

Let’s be silent.


It was requested by an anon.

Hope you'll enjoy this short Richey/Nicky story.

<3 Silencio 2

Friday, 20 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction7

He jumps up and the audience comes back, he waves his arms and they disappear. He gives me to joint and I vomit on some kid’s head and he shows me that it’s Meg.

I just look at my own blood which circulates, I believe I’ve reached the point where a knife is piercing my head and I look up to see Pete, who grabs my jaw and bangs my head against his.

I wonder what would Jamie be doing with his marriage and I am sitting there with my guitar with Alison and her newly dyed hair and she keeps chain smoking, silence and her foot taps give away everything.

“You know. I-I wonder.” She gulps another patch of tears. “W-what if-” And she just breaks it, sticking the cigarette so deep in her own throat she gags. It’s a baby indeed and I can’t tell her anything about it.

“W-wouldn’t.” Her phrases are too broken and I wonder if she should just curse and jinx us all, our big soup of relations. I wonder if she could she’d grab the bowl of music and just fling it on the floor for plain woman happiness, I remember when I met Meg and I think after a few kisses she just said that after all, everyone’s life changes after children.

I remember I had met Karen and kids were just something main, music, they were other notes, more private, ones which you wouldn’t share on stage.

Maybe Alison wanted those notes, maybe that’s why she broke a big orange bowl at her home and never focused on healing the bruise and just sat there, thinking, knowing, that-

she’d have music.

We all have music.

And then I look at Pete’s blade going through my head and I feel all the bullets in my head.

I take a few fingers up and I press them against the blade.

It’s quiet.

But it’s music, the way my blood slips down, the way Pete just watches, the way Alison kisses Jamie, the way

Pete and Moss are no longer



And that is it.

Thank you for reading.

If you want a full explanation of the story, feel free to ask, I will tell.

Feel free to send requests.

Originally this was going to go for 9 chapters, but today my mind turned itself off, a weird feeling which happens before I end any story.

Thank you very much for requesting!

I am now open for new requests!

<3 Edinburgh

Thursday, 19 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction6

It’s about staring.

And getting an axe out of reality the one you stand in and the one which is.

So I take it and I let it become the axe until it can devour the past and become mine, reality, the one I want, now.

I want to kiss home.

I wonder what would home be. I think everyone asks themselves that question and I guess parents become out of the question, soon enough. I tried to think about my own and I had nothing besides Alison and Jamie running around as if they were back to being kids once more and I sat there for a while.

Meg sat besides me, reaching out to stroke my arm.

Maybe she had dyed her hair and she had been my wife?

Maybe there was only Pete to ask.

If to choose one way to get to life should you go to the dead and back, but then Jamie had been there and all he had been doing was dancing around with Alison, maybe he was the dead as well.

Maybe dancing was lying dead in this world.

I stood up and opened the cupboard, the fridge, to get out a pot with chicken soup made made by Jamie. He never said where he would get the ingredients, but then where would I get the bullets so that my gun would always be filled?

Maybe I should shoot more bullets to myself.

“You alright, Jack?” And I look up to see Meg and then I hug her, lifting her up from her feet so that her head would be on my shoulder and I feel her dangling feet. I wonder what would her real height be.

I take out my gun.

I think I feel the scars on my face, I press my fingers against the skin and I trace a line which starts to sting. Meg just kisses my neck. Maybe somewhere I would be caught for pedophilia. I wonder

and maybe Alison will run in and see my tongue rubbing against Meg’s as I shall have an erection, but I don’t think that Jamie’s pants or her underwear will be of any difference.

People have sexual attraction so I kiss Meg deeper, she hesitates but gives in and I wonder if she will grow everywhere. I wonder if Alison would stare.

But instead I keep kissing Meg and on her neck and I wonder how she would look with shorter hair or red.

I keep getting dragged away by her instead of taking out the gun and trying to shoot both me and her, maybe that would be something, maybe that is why people end their lives, boredom, but what is there to this street and if I know that there is an afterlife with people dancing and maybe even playing music, what should keep me here if maybe there I will see myself and Meg, maybe

Just like in that dream Jamie will play with Alison’s tension and on drunk nights she’ll mutter a phrase and that would be it and she would be miserable on his wedding and kiss a woman.

And we will all break up and the only glue will be music.

Maybe I should have sex here, with Alison in my head and maybe I should believe in God. I don’t know, so I just lift up her dress.

I kiss her legs.

I wonder why Nabokov didn’t include a full explicit sex scene with Lolita, I never finished reading, it seemed boring, so I try to memorize how her skin feel as I travel up with my tongue.

I wonder if I’ll be young enough again later as I shoot a bullet under my chin and I feel it in my tongue and I spit it out, I have no blood, only if I trace my fingers against the wound.

So Meg traces and sticks her finger in and I can suck that finger so I do.

She starts tearing the fabric of my skin with her fingers. And I just keep on kissing her, er fingers slightly in my blood and I keep my eyes closed. I shoot another bullet to the side of my head, as I sleep on my back sometimes or maybe so that I would sleep with my eyes open and the bullet is stuck there, nuzzling my brain.

So I hesitate and then I shoot three bullets straight and I check the gun. It is charged, I keep shooting and I wonder if I am in the middle of a stage. It feels like I am shooting at the audience. I kill, but I do not see it and the bullets are always there.

Or maybe I am here to play?

Maybe I am in the band or maybe I just got onstage to shag someone and sing the chorus.

Maybe I should rip Meg aside, two sides, so that there would be sex with twins, which do not touch or even hold hands and my cock will be licked by the cold as Pete would turn off the heaters and he would be standing with Kate eating an apple, one of Jamie’s frozen apples and spitting out the seeds on me, thinking that I had stolen Pete.

Maybe she’ll think


They look too intimate.

I wonder and I look at Meg.

Sometimes the mind goes blank, maybe it’s just a scene.

Maybe I am in front of everyone and Meg is behind me. She looks young.

I look young.

Maybe it’s the life flashing in front of my eyes as I hold a plastic guitar and the strings lure my fingers and I see people jumping and Pete smoking his joint.

Or I am just about to live?

Should I go offstage, but instead I go down on the crowd and it becomes too crowded that they slowly vanish and I have to make my way to Pete. He stands there, fixing his fedora and taking out another joint then throwing himself on the floor. He closes his eyes and listens to the mute concert until he waves his hand for the older Meg to play a steady rhythm on the drums and he nods his head with it.

He looks up at me and gives me the joint.

“You wanted it.” And I inhale, as I feel two Pete’s singing the lyrics of a song into both of ears as the crowd slowly appears and another song is heard with the same lyrics only a younger man is singing it and he resembles me only he doesn’t have facial hair and maybe this is his life and I just hold his body.

I give the joint back to Pete, but Meg keeps the rhythm despite the audience reduction.


I am back and the daily basis is now back!

Thank you everyone for supporting and all the luck!

Thank you so so much!

<3 part 7

Wednesday, 18 January 2012


I don’t want childhood to be a perfect memory
I want to stain it
If it won’t be believed
Go in to a room
Full of tapes
Grab the VHS
And pull the tape
With my teeth
Cutting in half the body
Knowing that it won’t be a movie
Knowing that the pain will infect
The people on it
That their childhood
Which lasts for seventy years
Will be gone
And they will have no arms


This poem gives me shivers.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 3

I look at her as she searches for the right question to ask, but none come, as we are past the how old are you and how much money do your parents do but never past the are you married or are you gay, since you’re an actor and creative people must be gay. Not like it’s a bad thing or anything, but I just hate the whole sticking something to something. And no, I’m not.

I had a scene one, playing with a coin in my fingers and I looked up, because the character is suppose to and just asked aloud, what if I am? In the end the character’s fate is unknown aside the fact that he robs the bank and now has more coins to think on.

I once shaved my head and it grew out back, but I can still feel it upon my fingers, as I walked out with Macy, fingers intertwining like lace. I remember how I became so thin all of a sudden, my cheekbones seen and everyone commented on how ghastly I looked. All I saw was how brilliant I was going to be and all the roles I was going to get offered.

Few came.

Everyone commented on where was my glossy black hair and that I was sixteen, reminding me that nothing was ever going to happen.

I wondered how come I didn’t cut it all off now, releasing me from the girly look the audience aimed for. But then I had cut now that it wasn’t even, steaks reaching the chin, some not, some trying to grasp the shoulders if straightened and held forward to grow like an unwanted messed up seed.

But the question was the same as why I had laced fingers with the girl grasping a ladder in the other hand, waiting to go up into the stars as soon as I’d shave my head to have the feel.

Isn’t that what we aim for?

A feel, an exposure of the soul clean and clear as the one described in books, in roles, as I’d shout them out, holding a gun in hand, grasping a hand near the lips, falling down in a fake faint to cause a dramatic stir in the events so that I’d get kicked around before I’d get lifted up and get the red beaten out of my face by a kiss from the stage in a face of another actor’s rough lips, taking away the innocence once held in the air, as I’d climb up and up out of the scene to say that I was there.

That I wasn’t there, but having the gloss upon my lips and chin with lace between my fingers and stuck to my mouth to mute out the words from coming out to shred in the world with the paper guns against the clay temples and fake plastic door leading to eternal joy, something you can never claim until you grasp it in a certain state.


With the pearl out, hanging, getting took away, as the thief explained to get given to someone else.


You’ve never seen anyone die?

No. Why would I?

I remember how I saw him sprayed on the floor, one leg on top of the other chewing something eye closed, a smirk pressed upon the lips and a pearl collar colouring his neck. The thief looked different each time and that time he was unshaved and his hair was nearing a gray unlike the times when he’d turn up shaved, blonde, a hat covering the top, a too big button up shirt for him, half way tucked in and mismatched trainers and missing nails only to be found in the pocket covered in some blue glue.

“What’s your name?” It all starts and ends with it, doesn’t it?

“You mean by meaning death?” He never opened his eyes, scratching his pierced ear. The thief opened one deep eye looking at me from head to the toe, the other covering the right. I never realized that I said that aloud. Closing the door, I hid the key in my pocket, the thief smirking with glee. “No name.”

“What?” I blinked, flopping myself to the floor near to the gray haired man.

“Nope.” He shook his head, covering the second eye with the left hand, a grin forming upon his lips, his teeth poking out slightly crooked but not in a disgust way. “I can see the stars.”

“Jaidem?” I asked, poking his side. My hand sliding upon the now black shirt with its soft silk. Wasn’t that mine once until I fiddled with a hole and ripped it apart the threads coming out and into the world of nothing.

“Isn’t it s’possed to be Jaiden?” He asked, taking both hands and sitting straight, ruffling a hand through his now auburn hair hanging and touching his slightly sticking out lips. I nodded.

“I just… like it more that way.” I shrugged, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head against them, feeling something touch my hair out of my face and placing something upon my lips, a round object. I swallowed, feeling the thief smile.

The later it got the younger he looked, his hair bleaching out or falling out, clothes changing, but at least one pearl would be added to his collar and sometimes draining the colour out of his cheeks and not just the shave able stubble.

Every time I’d see him, it felt like the first time at school with a tie hanging tightly around the neck but with a feeling of relief as you’d see a certain somebody. It felt as natural as the growing amount of pearls that soon enough he had a whole jacket, mentioning that once he’d have mine between a forced cough that choked out other people’s blood all different coloured, like the scattered stars in the sky.

Jaidem looked different each time, his cough sometimes getting worse. He told me that he wasn’t contagious but that I shouldn’t touch the blood leaking out of his mouth on the cloth or sometimes piling on the floor like ripped out pages from books if he searched for something unknown to the regular, boring, human mind.

“Are you human?” He hesitated pulling out a blonde turning green steak and fiddling with it, ripping it in two, crunching like toast and taking it into his mouth as it turned into a cherry lollypop to turn into a steak of bacon and back into chocolate, something it one day was.

“No. Just like you are, Devyn.” I never told him my name but the scattered newspapers with my name underlined in purple pencil seemed explainable. I pouted. He threw an eyelash at me. I caught it and blew it into a plane to descend into a ripe bubble to pop in my leg creating a whole in my stage pants to receive a shout from my director and accuses of Jaidem who laughed, fiddling with the chain flower cross on his neck as he’d stick his tongue out on the way out of the performance, stage and life.

But he returned. With a beer in hand to drink it and dumb the bottle in the room along with his star abused body, crawling into a ball, lulling him to sleep as my Joy Division CD sounded in the distance, muting out his thoughts with Ian’s and as he mumbled my own suicide.

I asked him why my own.

He told me to sleep between his own sick, pearly shaped sweet sleep with lips drenched in cheap beer and lime stuck out of my fridge from an expensive birthday show cake which I can’t swallow due to its fake plastic taste messing with my taste buds that it feels like hash, if I’d know how it felt. Jaidem told me, so I made the connection with hash.

Does hash even taste?

It tastes, like love, he answered lips barely moving.

Then it’s shit.


Sorry for the delays, I've been quite busy and now I am fully back.

It has indeed been a busy half a year, but I've made it!

Jaidem is now here and Jaidem would be my favorite creation, really.

Sunday, 15 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction5

I think if there is a way to stop the voices in the head, there should be something about Pete like a gum ball and then we all split it in half and chew. Fun, fun, fun, laugh, laugh, yeah.

“I think we need a plan to kill Pete.” I say and I bring out kid’s drawings and throw them on the floor, we need a plan after all.

Jamie laughs.

The helium is being reloaded most likely, so that’s why our conversation is




I don’t think we have much time, but we’ll make it.

And I smile and we all do.

Alison thinks a bit too much, chewing Jamie’s cigarette and I start recalling Kate. Where is Kate? He went to the dead and got Alison.

Don’t you sometimes feel scared? Sacred?

Maybe when you just lay down in a bed and you’re just too nervous to do anything and you just shift to a side, when an idea comes in a dream and you forget it.

But then maybe you should feel calm that even the glimpse of it happened. I think I woke up with a red headed woman with her back turned on me and I remember standing up, everything a bit foggy and the smell of Pete’s joint was in the air and the smoke soon filled up my thoughts as I entered a room with children in it.

Pete just stood behind me and blew smoke at the back of my head.

It felt as if he were sticking needles in my head but I knew that they were needles without their material or maybe needles were even a hypotesis. What if I wrong?

I stood up, everything seemed to be too foggy and I recall Meg being a bit taller and she gave me some cereal and I had some memory and then I felt homesick. The memory had faded and I just kept eating cereal.

“I want to go home.” I haven’t seen home, had I? What was home enough? It wasn’t the rugs or Alison and Jamie staring at each other as if they couldn’t hold an inch closer or they’d just have sex on the floor but managed to kiss each other on the lips as Jamie would go out to cook testicles and shit, other shitty organs he’d cut out.

In the very beginning he kept them in the bathtub, so I had to swim through all the fluids and bits and blood and bones, digging my head in and getting out with eyes in my hair and he would stare eating fresh bread out of nowhere and then he would go inside and we would just stare.

I think he got bored playing tension with me.

Now he has Alison.

That’s why they don’t ahve sex.

That’s why I had it with Meg.

I had sex with Meg.

I look up to look at her.

“You’re not ten, are you?” I ask her blowing on my coffee and I don’t longer think that I am here anymore.

Maybe words and numbers don’t count anymore and I just stare at her.

I have no moves left.

All has been done.

All is great.

All will be done.


I think we should bang.

Bang bang.


This chapter is short but I felt the need to post.

Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you!

part 6

Saturday, 14 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction4

I think I am in a plane and Jamie is locked with Alison in a studio.

Are they musicians?

As well?

Midnight Boom! I think that’s their band name or-

He hums that song. I hear the noises from above and look at the blonde northern guy handing me a sandwich.

“Hi, Jamie.” And I think I wake up as I say that to him.

I roll over.

I think I should bang him. The thought comes with his leather gloves which slide with the sandwich as he holds my nose and feeds me. I close my eyes for a second as tension seems to be stuck and I wonder what happened to the passenger and what should I do instead of just biting. I open -

They isolated themselves during th- band?

I close my eyes and I let the left overs of the sandwich just lie in the guy’s palm. He squeezes the sandwich, oh, so softly and wraps his mouth around the bread, gives it a suck, fingers over the bread back and forth.

I look at him as the plane slowly starts to shake.

I watch him for a while and then he takes two fingers, puts them in my mouth and stretches out my lips so that they ache and he can see my tongue. I show him my tongue.

He sucks his finger and goes with one hand in his underwear.

Maybe it’s because you don’t really stick your hands into strangers.

There is something about that moment when you think you see death.

Maybe that had been the first time I had seen Pete leaning across the seat in which the northern man should have been, looking bored at everyone, starting to smoke a joint as the air seemed to go darker and Pete’s joint lighter and I think the swedish guy came when I had caught Pete’s eye.

I saw him stand up and walk easily towards me, sitting past the swedish guy enjoying cum on his fingers.

Pete smiled at me.

“I think you’d look good with facial hair.” He said laughing slightly and he smoked the rest of the joint.

Meg keeps looking at me as I clean up with the memories and no connection to this place or Meg, maybe I hadn’t been with Alison, but then where would she come from? So I just wonder if I would look up I would see Pete with his hat and maybe with a joint. Maybe it were drugs or maybe I had to take drugs to simply come back to reality? What was it that I actually had to do?

So as soon as I clean up everything we leave and Meg just looks around and the sky seems to be a bit cleaner than usual. Did we even have stars in the first place? I don’t think so. Maybe we are on a holiday which Pete shall never tell us or maybe he just forgot to switch off the dim lights so that we would all sleep.

I once had the thought that what if he were Father Time as I just flicked through different random characters in my head, but then would he be with a joint?

Maybe the joint would be the hourglass, we’re not exactly all sane here, are we?

What if this is all a joint and Alison had fallen asleep in my arms and then there was no Jamie yet in her life.

I open the door and I wonder if I would ever see Jamie until the joint would end and what would it mean? Would it mean both of us going back to silent random wars like who would guess the colour of the weatherman’s t-shirt and we would try to match it with some small path of clothing and we would feel shadows behind us about to grasp us and we wouldn’t see anything a random paranoia would just collapse out of the blue.

I wonder what if we could gather everyone and just smoke Pete’s joint all of us in a row, maybe Jamie and me, fuck, why not?

Maybe it wasn’t that obvious when I saw him knocking on the door the next day, Meg opening the door and him carrying the woman to the kitchen table, dumping her on a seat, her hair long and he gave her a cereal bowl then she glanced at Meg, laughed, pat her head and soon enough Jamie gave her a bowl with cereal and milk.

I just watched them, as he would serve her more with tea and coffee and a salad for an ending as we just stared, maybe she was trying to recall or maybe her mind was in a closet with her head peeking out and her hands were holding the wooden doors.

And then she closes the closet and Jamie managed to drill a hole there to peek and talk, but not touch.

Maybe he’d take her out and drag the closet with him, she’d be holding the doors maybe it’s the way it is.

I keep staring at him and her and then I glance at Meg.

What if she’s even younger when we come back to life? What is she doesn’t live at all? What if she is the closet? What if Jamie is married to Meg? I don’t think I am married to Jamie though, I dreamed of breasts once and I believe I saw a ring there unless I was cheating. What if I am woman?

“What the fuck, Jamie?” I don’t ask him what is he doing with my wife, maybe Alison had been outside as she starts to giggle nervously near Jamie and watches me with curiosity and Meg shows no interest after Alison gives her a blank look when she addresses her as mum.

“What?” He asks eating some chunk of bread and slowly chewing it. I wonder how would Jamie looked if he came from the north, maybe he had lured me to death and I wonder if I could press him against the wall even if his fingers are around Alison’s earlobe, stroking it.

Maybe I am a whorehouse and these people live within me.


Well, I think I do exist, so in my mind I press Jamie harder against the wall, I think we do exist, since we are here, so therefor we are something. Like a stick.

And maybe we all shove it up someone’s ass, maybe we are all a stick.

Maybe we are all a cock in a gay bar, a real flesh cock saying hi to all the gay men.

Maybe we are Pete’s joint or Pete but then I’d be smoking a joint too instead of wondering what would the joint do if we would steal a few from Pete most likely be lying dead and laughing as everything would seem even more funny and I’d feel like helium.

Maybe Pete is the one who is helium after all maybe we all breathed in too much, but then what the fuck can happen from helium anyway, maybe we are the balloon?

I wonder how will they look when they are old.

Alison and Jamie.

And I guess I would want to die with that thought, at least now, about Alison, so I just close my eyes and wonder where did all the food I mention come from.

We all need to die, but I don’t think we will, no matter how much I had shot people or Jamie had sliced them open, they would just not die, they would lie there, not breathing, not moving but alive, if to thin of it, their temperature would just go higher and higher and Jamie would tell me to shrug it off.

Me and Jamie decided to keep checking on this guy we killed, somewhere in his forties, when we had just to see our forty, I don’t even count my age and when me and Jamie felt like it could’ve been a birthday we congratulate both of us, just in case it might be the other’s birthday.

The man was gone and a mug with his name was left on the top shelf with all the books taken out of there.

Jamie wouldn’t stop laughing and I just broke the mug, wondering if it would burn the house due to it’s temperature.

It didn’t, it just broke and became warmer and warmer.

We’d check on the shards until we couldn’t even walk up to the them due to the warmth, never get burnt, but to never touch either the fully living or dead, mug or no mug, even if I wouldn’t break or hold in the freezer, the warmth would get stronger and Jamie once ate a shard and we stared at him.

I think I kissed him.

I think I made out with him.
I think I went inside.

I think it felt good.

Maybe we should pin it down.

Maybe a mug would be a joint.

But then it comes from the dead.

There is something more to this so I look at Jamie who drink milk and throws up, the mug stuck in his now split bottom lip. He starts coughing harder and I just stare at him, not doing anything, wondering if he would die. The shard is impossible to even hold and Jamie’s temperature goes a bit high.

He falls down and I keep staring at him.

Maybe he would die, but he doesn’t.

Jamie just lies there, Alison shifting all over the rooms for a while, as his temperature goes higher the next days.

Then she shifts me.

And I’m stuck with Meg.

I want Jamie to die, so that I would see it.

He doesn’t.

Alison kisses him too much.

Jamie doesn’t die anyway.

So I have the thought of stabbing the fucker away with his own knife, but Alison doesn’t let me and Meg calls me.

She calls me upstairs and she keeps looking at me. I feel that I could trace the knife up and above my head so that I would be blood, maybe then Pete would notice me, maybe then my temperature would be up, so I take the knife and I start from the neck, past the adam’s apple, cutting deeper, nearly going for my eye, keeping my vision, my life won’t be taken away from me, so I try not to lose all my senses and I keep cutting, watching Meg stare at me and then I trace the other side of the knife above her arm, up to her sleeve and cutting it slightly, tearing the edge as blood becomes my sweat and I stare at her.

She has my blood, so I sink the knife in her arm, she doesn’t break eye contact or say anything, so I stick it even deeper so that it would go through her arm.

There is no pain here indeed.

We smile.

Heads against.




Fuck, I want to kiss her, so I stick the knife deeper, so that she wouldn’t feel pain, I stroke her legs, going between for a bit and my tongue is inside her mouth and she kisses as if she knows and it attracts me.

I can’t stop all the thought-


and I gasp.




I just open my eyes, she’s here, I’m here

And I think it actually does ache in the end.


It does.

I think.

I believe.

I think.

I get the knife out and I cut off my tongue, but it’s still there.

I can’t lose a sense, can I?

I think so.

Neither can Jamie.

I think he’s shagging her.

Maybe not now.

Maybe not here.

Maybe not there.

Maybe we are a morgue in a helium ballon, wrapped in something to go away and just get the air out. Maybe that’s what life is. We come in a death package so our life should as well, just in the minor case that we might not die after all, but meet the morgue keeper at the rug in the middle of the room with a blade to bring all the pain and make life worth it, because you just can’t be the never knowing tragedy kind.

So he’d stab you.



I'm sorry for not posting two days and here I am exhausted but so inspired that I wrote even the beginning of the next chapter and I feel guilty for forcing myself to stop. Yes, I love writing and I'd write 'til death and later, fuck, all my life and it was what I am doing apparently.

The northern dude and the plane was a thing which actually happened to me, there was heavy turbulence and the steward was northern and quite good looking which resulted in me being Jack, thinking that Jack would shag him, I think as characters some time and yeah, stuff like that.

Basically, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter of Axe For Cork Extraction and I guess maybe this is the middle, feels like Jack will figure out something soon or maybe not, depends when I will fill the end of this, really.

Thank you very much for the luck and thank you, thank you, thank you.

part 5

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction3

She wants to eat.

And all we have is Jamie’s people left overs and she had eaten the apples already. I still don’t know why this house is empty so I wonder if I should check if it has some life frozen upstairs. But at first I check all of the cupboards with Meg sitting on a chair her legs dangling and I wonder if I can tie them and I guess I have a fatherly feel about this with her eyes being mine and something Alison deep down her as if I could take it from her throat.

What do I ask her?

How was Alison like?

What did she play with Alison?

Did Alison breast feed her?

And with that I find a plate and I put it in front of her.

“Are we going to eat, dad?” She blinks and looks at me. I look at the bracelets around her hands and I figure I can tie up her hair and I just take a look at her hair and it feels silkier than Alison’s, but Alison would ask me to trim her hair and it would always be crooked and she’d love it so I traced my hands over how would Alison’s or a softer version of mine would feel and I tie her hair into two ponytails.

“I guess. Do you eat people?” Meg laughs slightly, not being sure if it is a joke or not, after all, she was frozen in a house with Alison as well and I can see them playing sea battle just because Meg likes it and Alison looking at the ceiling maybe talking to me in her sleep and waking up at night.

I wonder what caused her death, maybe Jamie had entered once, maybe when I was asleep just to take someone’s liver and then he’d cook it for Pete, maybe that’s why we can leave, we kill or bring the moment closer and give him food.

How does Pete eat?

Does he take a knife and a fork or just use the blade cutting the inside of his mouth as he does it, eating slowly and blood falling onto his body and only holding onto the fabric of his skin and slowly draining out with one life taken from this morgue.

Maybe Alison was eating an apple and Jamie walked in.

I see her eating one of those green apples she liked and she’d always give me a bite, just smiling and eating the rest looking at me and we wouldn’t kiss for a bit and then give a brief one, just nervous as if we had just started dating and maybe because back then we never knew we’d have a child and because not much words were spoken there never was the question if the vows we want to say will be forever or even spoken.

So I guess Jamie and Alison would just stare at each other for a bit and Meg would stare.

“Did you ever see Jamie?” I ask Meg and she just shrugs.

Maybe because the thought happens everything happens. It’s opposite in a morgue. Only in this one it’s too expensive to have your own drawer and it’s more fun until to wait to get the autopsy.

I take out some lungs and I put them on the frying pan, knowing that no Jamie means no food as well. I found some hearts and some stomach but they seemed to symbolic and I hoped that the lungs wouldn’t belong to a smoker but they seemed pink enough if they are supposed to be pink enough.

I closed my eyes wondering if Jamie tried the organs he takes out.

Maybe he did kill her after all.

Basically Jamie knocked on the door as usual, opening the door to see the little girl saying a greeting to him silently and he nodded, the knife in his back pocket and he could’ve cut out her ear and then stare at her bleed until Pete would come and Pete would just insert the blade inside her, but instead the man just sat opposite of her.

Maybe he would wait for Pete and be nervous about it in the mean time, maybe if he would smoke tobacco it would attract someone and it does.

He raises his eyes to look at the woman walk in in rather tight clothing and some leopard sweater unbuttoned and a t-shirt under it, it seems to be white and she just looks at known to the girl man.There is no apple and she just looks at him for quite a while.

“Jamie?” He should take out a liver or an ear, so he just takes out the knife, but doesn’t show it, just not yet, instead he moves from side to side.

“Tell her to go up.” And Alison takes the little girl into the kitchen after a few exchanged looks, unbuttons her shirt and sits down opposite Jamie who just closes her eyes and his head falls softly on her shoulder. Alison just sits there as he pulls the left sleeve of the button up to just rest on her shirt.

“Jamie?” She asks again, but he doesn’t say anything, the knife taken out and he presses it against her jeans.

Yeah, a light tension should work is his only though and his other hand goes to her chest and he just swallows slightly, his eyes closed and his lips a bit from hers.

The knife rips the jeans and brushes the skin.

He sticks his tongue inside her mouth. It feels like sex only once the kiss is gone her knee is cut in half and her head is now resting on his shoulder with the girl in the kitchen.

Maybe he just grabbed the apple from her and flung her against a wall, sex can happen between friends or someone who had tension for so long and your boyfriend might be taken away and I see him slowly taking off her clothes even if she hesitates.

I give Meg the lungs and she doesn’t do anything to them, it is like eating a dog, you imagine it wiggling in front of you, so she imagines the person breathing in front of her.

I slap myself from comparing a dog to myself and I take a lung and stick it in my mouth to which Meg’s eyes widen and I gag.

I swallow half and the other half goes on the table and Meg just gives me more silence.

“Yeah.” And I throw the plate with the lungs, the nice one and the half of a chewed one and they both decorate the bin’s emptiness with such effect that I stick the bin in the bathroom and wonder if I should just open any house and leave the bin there to be a discussion for weeks as after I shoot people, a policy, you walk in, you shoot, before they actually do die from Pete’s thoughts.


I was requested a third point of view for this chapter by an anon:) So there you have it, the one about Jamie visiting Alison and most likely there will be a few more:) Not breaking the secrets which I may or not hold.

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

part 4

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction2

Pete stared at me and Jamie for a bit the girl looking up at the ceiling maybe at the lack of cracks and how the wall-paper started peeling off at the top edges as if she could just stand up on her tiptoes and rip it off with her fingers.

I wonder if she would put it in her hair or if she would stuff it in her mouth.

Jamie shakes Pete’s hand, maybe for not really stealing anything besides his wife, but it doesn’t seem major, he has hands, so he just shrugs it off, sulks a bit as I unwrap her slowly, taking off the paper and seems like Christmas after all even if we hid the plastic tree we had and Jamie had walked around the house with Christmas lights as a scarf dancing around with Kate.

“What’s your name?” I ask the girl looking at her soft polka dot sweater and jeans slightly ripped on the end of the right even if I could see her name.

“Meg. Mum used to read me stories, she said Meg fits me.” She smiled and I just leaned my head closer to her fabric, all the wrappers around and it felt like it were an explosion of a condom, well, it was really, so I just sat in front of her, wondering how long would it get to get back home, wherever it was, maybe I had to take the boat.

Sometimes after Jamie had done bacon and Kate would refuse, I’d swirl it onto a fork and just look at it looking a bit up to see a red headed women, maybe dyed hair and a different room and she’d press her palm against my cheek and in one exhale the air would make the room fall and I’d have Jamie eating straight from the frying pan some fish which would be done for himself and smeared with ketchup.

And he licks the pan causing me to shiver and then I wake up, I’ve been having too much daydreams lately from just looking at something and I see myself holding Meg’s sweater.

“What’s your name?” I guess the word dad slipped through her ability to speak many many years ago and I could picture Alison throwing her up as Meg would close her eyes and I just stared at Meg. I wondered in which house was Alison locked in the end and why I was chosen with Jamie out of all people, maybe it was due to the fact that it would just be more entertaining.

I guess dad doesn’t really works and the eye colour can be mismatched if you put the light in her eyes.

“Jack.” I just say even if she heard all of Pete’s words and I just see Pete whispering things into Jamie’s ear as he plays with his hair listening and I look at his tight jeans and I just go back and forth threw Meg’s body. I press myself against her. Maybe she did see Alison and I just look back at Pete and he looks back at me, rubbing off the blood off his skin with the blade. I wonder why would even need a blade but he just doesn’t say anything.

“How are the dead?” Jamie asks Pete and I shake slightly wondering if Alison would dancing among their dark brown flowers as her body would slowly dissolve there if I would look too close into the horizon and she’d infinite, she’d forget about home most likely.

Sometimes the household feels too cold and Jamie just stares me.

“Fine. Dancing.” So Alison does dance or for Meg, mum does dance and then Meg does a little dance herself as if trying to prove that she herself can also dance maybe even like the dead, like her mum as she holds hands and smiles too much and I close her mouth, looking at her deep in my head, telling her to fuck off the alive.

I guess I would kiss her through my hand, scared that death would cling to me and Pete would take me to the dead and death would be a dance among those brown flowers, so I cling stronger to Meg, an imagery, a living cell of Alison and she just looks down on me, liking my hair and saying softly and I wonder if Jamie sees an Alison in her or if he does not who does he see as person after all.

“How fun is it?” And I see Jamie grab his coat and Pete presses his blade against the back of Jamie’s neck and rips the coat in half.

“Enough, James.” And it feels weird all of a sudden, just a reminder that death is a druggie it chooses the wrong people to sort into the houses nearest to death just to freak out those who won’t.

Then with the ripped coat Jamie leaves both me and Meg. Pete follows him, the blade going back and forth, keeping me and Meg a rather safe distance from it and I keep watching Jamie who goes faster and faster to the shore.

“Kate’s dead!” I yell but Pete catches up, traces the sharp side of the blade with his fingers and presses it against the waves as they slowly suck his fingers vomiting out a boat which they both board. But then he is heading towards the dead with Pete rowing slowly with his fingers as he slowly drifts to fall asleep and then I just hug Meg tighter and I wonder if he will get Kate back after all.

So I go back with Meg into Pete’s bar. She sits on a stool counting the drawn cloud aloud and saying their colours as I just take out all the money from the till and start counting it, maybe to check that there is something I do not hold and Meg just watches me.

“Can I have an apple?” I shrug and close the till, looking behind myself into the kitchen and the young girl actually does follow me, most likely hungry from the death of her mother and I guess the apearence of her after.

I open a fridge to find two apples in the freezer. She takes one by the leave and rocks it back and forth around her neck, I close my eyes not to feel cold and I feel her fingers on my eyelashes but I say nothing, knowing her height and just kiss her forehead.

“Um, dad, Dad Jack, Jack.” Meg says trying to bite the apple I gave her and then the other two, leaving symmetrical teeth traces so I just say nothing, wondering what would Jamie do with Kate back, I guess just sex as usual with her fiddling with the curtains and rolling all over the bed until I would enter the room and do the bed for her and she would snicker a bit and I would just glance back and she would think I like her with my room being a shrine to Alison thoughts.

And she tastes all those names and I just wonder if Pete would have music here besides the notes he either hums himself or sometimes does something else like banging himself against the plate with his head on the table, maybe also having day dreams it’s something no one really wants to talk about.

Day dreams are the path to home but how do you keep them, how do you hold them and spread them out?

You walk out of the nightmare, so I wait for Pete and I wonder how will he bring Jamie like and if he would be able to walk, the dead shouldn’t be that beautiful, they are the dead after all, I don’t think you can look at a dead person that long anyway, you’ll just press your chin against the chest and cry holding the living cells well at least to the mind’s belief if you’re alive you can make something else live since we produce babies after all after such pleasure even if our coat is a dead material holding all the living blood inside, death keeps up in tact that is why Pete comes to visit.

Pete is our skin, keeping us intact, reminding that soon he’ll get to the core with his blade and the road home is going back to life and the houses will collapse.


And here is the second chapter.

I keep liking Pete's role more and more and in the beginning Jack wasn't supposed to see Jamie leave actually, but yeah.

Hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

part 3

Monday, 9 January 2012

Axe For Cork Extraction

It’s about the cigarette and the lousy second floor which seems to be in numerous rugs, which Jamie had stolen from before.

I knock on his door softly, hearing noises which could lead to birth and I knock harder, knowing that they’re both there.

I knock harder, playing with the rugs underneath me, I look at the dark blue one which patterns which could have been a wave and soon enough the older male open the door and he looks if you would illustrate every age he would be under the bad looking 40s.

The rugs have monsters and I battle them with my feet for a while and I see the bed and just out of curiosity I glance and then lean back.

“Jamie, read this.” And I just shove it in his arms and I think about going down, but I just stay here wondering if the rugs hold holes beneath them and Jamie closes the door behind him, walking out, the robe a gray and the slippers stolen from his wife dark purple. He chews on some mint gum, tilting the newspaper sideways.

“Did you get any shit of this?” He asks me as I hear Kate stand up and open the curtains to the endless night. I guess she’d be naked and wondering if she’s not as flat as the walls or a fridge.

“Fuck no!” I scream at him and then I go to his side to see the structure of the sketch myself and dig my hands deeper into the holes of my pockets. Jamie raises the sketch above his head, tilting his head up and I try to get my hands out of the holes, but keep them there, will use scissors and cut my hands off, Jamie should cook some part of my body anyway, I think he does, most likely when I sleep, stroking my hair softly saying Jackie, as if he were Alison.

I wonder if he stole my bones and replaced them with branches as I had seen him look at me from above, humming, holding the usual small knife he uses with a green beaten up skin handle.

Jamie just closes his eyes and dragging his bathrobe with him goes downstairs to just look outside. I follow him to see the street deserted as usual and how the empty houses look from outside unless you open the door and it feels like Christmas with crackers opening everywhere until Jamie heads up to someone, traces a knife around the neck and takes out some vein and then I shoot and he just laughs and starts humming as we stare at the person starve as we share some food between us or gather on their table with the other relatives dead and we just feast as if we can steal Christmas or any day.

We’d walk out.

Like we do now and Jamie just goes in circles, hands in the robe and I just look up at the sky. Then to the edge, to my right and look at the black hanging abyss and the boat which goes back and forth from the dead and alive, someone had liked Greek mythology, that’s what Jamie told me once when he picked up his guitar with fingers covered in blood, saying that we’ll all end up dragging ourselves from the dead some day.

Jamie sits on the beach, how it darkens and goes more moistures the more you reach it and the sand just dissolves into water. Sometimes the imagery is to strong to describe, so I just close and I wonder if we could anything what would we do, maybe once we should just go on and see where the street actually ends as there is nothing behind the houses.

In a house there is another identical to the rest house only once you enter it is smaller and it is a bar indeed and Jamie can see himself there with an apron and a palette to taste the food he does from all the organs he steals. He doesn’t eat them that much, he just leaves them on the plate, some dream he had and that is where the money comes from which just stays there, filling the tills, falling into the abyss we never count.

Jamie said he actually had a client once, just after he had done cooking-

“You think?” And I look at Jamie just playing with his fingers, most likely thinking if he can do a real cat cradle if he tore out his fingers and then run around like a degenerate showing it to his wife who should say how the fuck will he give him pleasure now.

And we both stand up, Jamie offering a cigarette and we enter the house, Jamie taking a hat with earmuffs and sits in the couch fiddling with the knife.

“Well, he eats the meat every day. I think so.” And he tries to do the cat’s cradle with the smoke and fails so he puts on two pairs of sunglasses, maybe to actually try and dare to look terrifying. I just look at Jamie again kicking the floor and seeing the two barrel sticking out, greeting me and I just charge it near the window, opening it and thinking to yell some sort of war cry, but instead I close it and I see Jamie light the fire place with a lighter and burn his white earmuffs slightly.

“And when were you going to tell me?” Jamie just inhales and takes my unfinished cigarette they’ve become quite rare in our closet which is just as bad as the street.

“I thought you figured.” He coughs with the bough tobacco sticks in his mouth and under his tongue.

“No.” I say throwing my gun in the air and catching it as Jamie decides to mimic my move.

“Well, it couldn’t be Kate or the lads who are stuck in their houses, death doesn’t really eat, at least from what I’ve read.” And he points the knife at the bookshelf with a few books making pyramids on each shelf. Jamie stands up and starts twisting the pyramids and I just watch him from a couch near the door.

I close my eyes.

“So you think it’s Pete?” I coughed and Jamie just nods.

“Yeah, who else can be a degenerate to give us a week expired newspaper with our milk and a sketch of our house as a fire plan where should we ru-”

“All the doors are closed.” I say, leaning back as if my whole body is shaking, wondering if I should ditch the creep and just keep going until I reach something which I have actually seen on the globe as a kid as I had sat with black hair

dark eyes

And then Jamie just runs up.

Kate’s window.

Once we’re there the bed is unmade and a little girl is holding Pete’s hand as he holds a joint with a longer blade than Jamie’s which is a few inches. She looks pre-puberty and we just stare at her and at Pete’s unmade shirt and the blood patches across his skin, his torn hat and he just sits on the bed, taking Jamie’s cigarette’s pressing them against his joint and giving a long breathe in.

“She’s Alison’s and your daughter. Alison’s dead.” Says the druggie, his hand going a bit darker as he holds the girl with all the gift ribbons all over her body and Meg written on the chocolate medallion she holds in her hand and just smiles broadly.


This had also been requested by anons on tumblr as Meg/Jack gore filled multi chaptered. There is more to come and yes, romance between Meg and Jack later on.

Aaaand this is the first chapter of Axe For Cork Extraction. The title actually bothered me for a while and I was flirting it with the idea of calling it cork and then I looked up on wikipedia thinking that I may stumble onto something else and I actually did.

The idea didn't come initially as I wanted some sort of locked setting as a school or a hospital which then came up with Jack shooting people and Jamie cutting through flesh and the idea of Meg being Jack's daughter and a few scenes popped in my head.

I hope you will enjoy it!

Part 2