Wednesday, 29 February 2012


“Cigarette?” And he offers me one, knowing that I am out of them and I am standing near him, struggling a bit due to his skirt.

My throat is a bit sore and he keeps smoking and he is in platforms, laughing at something he mentioned earlier but instead I sink it at the cross dresser, who seems to be my height, but feels too tiny.

I watched him in class, sometimes sitting cross legged, as he would act and I would look at how bright his lips were and how he would play female better than anyone else or how he would apply lipstick wherever the cigarettes would snatch the colour away.

I wondered if I took that one cigarette and took a puff, would I be the one to snatch the colour in that area.

I’ve been told who poofs where, I’ve seen some on the street, but I never had anyone right in front of me and someone who would still wear those platforms and manage to actually have sex with girls in a bright blue sweater and make out sometimes trying to be private. I had been looking for a carton of orange juice and he had a trolley.

I stopped right in front of it, wondering if I should identify him as female or male in those platforms of his.

“Hi, Jamie.” And he smiles and I always see him smoking in my head or both of us sitting on the stairs, not saying anything, sometimes I tap a tune with my fingers, sometimes he does.

“Hi, Brian.” I mimic and that’s it.

That’s where all our conversations went.

Besides a few times, when he asked me what I thought of such and such author or poet. Once he bragged about The Pixies and Sonic Youth, while chewing on an unlit cigarette, the wind playing with the hair, stealing the red lips for itself. Brian keeps talking about how complicated to apply nail varnish is and I try to point out the red in his hairs and in the end my fingers are entangled in the red of his and my fingers contain it as a sin and his hair is black again and his accent enchants London.

It’s too tense when he asks me to choose his first pair of high heels.

I stare at him wobbling, holding onto my arm and laughing at me, so much taller.

It’s too tense, as I grab hold of his hands in that small store which doesn’t kick him out and I swallow my saliva, still my own.

Before a tongue touches my own.

On the stairs when we smoke.

He hurls himself at me, he has a cock and it’s against my own, he is in his new heels and the legs intertwine and I steal his colour for my own.


It's called Swallow as even when I had my off phase of Placebo I always had Swallow, Swallow is I guess one of THE Placebo songs for me and Placebo in general is a special band for me, I've seen them live and I loved them, Christ, I still do and now I'm just rediscovering a great dead band, fuck me, let's all unite and buy Molko some drugs and I miss the whole sex appeal he had and it's a shame how he just tore everything off.

Thank you

Feel free to request for tomorrow:3

<3 null hypothesis

Monday, 27 February 2012

Light Upon The Dance Floor

You know when that girl is just too good for you?

The way she hurls herself on stage and clothes seem like nothing, not just because it’s all too tight but because the sweat on her is still even dropping into her drink and she laughs.

I stare at her and I wonder how would it feel when she was younger, when I was younger and how would it feel if I’d snuck out and maybe it would be a small venue, maybe the New Year’s lights would be around with a few pumpkins lying under all the feat and girls would be in fishnets, listening and I would stand there.

“Alex?” Alison asks and her hair is now behind her, revealing the freaky blonde roots and I hold myself from poking them and I just smile, keeping the straw there, something I grabbed for an anecdote and she just smiled and I recall looking at her heels and wondering if I grabbed her and held her, would it be higher than her heels?

And then maybe the confetti would fall or some music would play as her arms would be around.


She repeats my name and I do nothing, bending the straw in my fingers three more times.

I look at her drink, I drink her drink.

She drinks my drink.

Maybe it should be New Years.

And I would twirl her on the dance floor.

“Alex?” This time she is even laughing. Does she wear dresses which I can lift up as I take her to bed or in a morning hangover with her feet in my face and I get woken by a kick of her stretching out?

“Would you dance?” But I’m not in a tux. I’m in this jacket I had bought yesterday, not even checking it properly, so it’s a bit short on the arms, but I don’t bother and my hair went a bit down and her roots show too much and she looks like a rainbow ballerina, but I get her to the dance floor anyway and the music doesn’t seem to bad until you stop minding it and the hands just tremble really for a brief second.

Should I be a moron and not touch her hips? Waist?

Waist and go to the hips as her eyes glance around.

Jamie Hince is married.

Jamie Hince is married.

Jamie Hince is married.

“Would you marry me since Jamie Hince is married?” And it sounds wrong and it is a joke or rather a mumble of words and she doesn’t hear half the sentence but I don’t know which half.

And Alison just keeps dancing or rather her eyes are fixed on me and I look at how her eye pencil was used today and the song changes and the other three after it do and couples change, but we’re still on the dance floor and I wonder if we’ll head out for a smoke.

We eventually do, but Alison dances a bit as I light her cigarette and we’re just as mute, the crap music taking our tongues and I quickly glance into her mouth as she exhales the long smoke and eventually presses a kiss upon my lips, as I take her cigarette and I held them both between my fingers, as she gives her tongue in and presses me closer.

Maybe I should’ve looked when I was younger and bought a ticket to be among those fishnets, maybe just to have someone to wank to instead of barely remembering anything besides the nipples or the birth mark on the neck of the women I’d touch myself to.


I'll be honest I love it xD I myself was writing and enjoying it myself as I quite love Alex Turner despite my massive mockery hatred for the Arctic Monkeys. Being honest, really.

It's a more humorous piece unlike my usual, so I hope you enjoyed it and I am even quoting the Jamie Hince is married bit, I can fan girl over my work even if I do not look as cool as Morrissey in a The Smiths t-shirt, I'll still brag about it.

Thank you and I hoped you enjoy it feel free to request and I am open to anything new and any new pairing you can dare me :)

<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="a" data-blogger-escaped-href="">Swallow

Sunday, 26 February 2012

cover me in varnish from head to toe

“Look at yourself in the mirror after you shower.” Jamie said once, maybe after brushing his teeth and I sat on the bathtub, eating an apple.

“Why?” I laughed, my hair in a low ponytail just so that nothing would bother me as much, it still felt unusual, but I sat on the edge, knowing all his girls and that one he had fucked doggy on the toilet.

He just told me to look and I just stayed there for a while, maybe waiting for the steam to lure Jamie in after all the air would stop being my coat and I would see which areas of my body would be needing a shave tomorrow and I would steal his razor again while laying in his bathtub, maybe as he’d talk to some girl and I would wonder if I should do my nails and I would, into a bright red colour, because that’s how the girls he likes look, so I stand here with the nails red.

He peeks in.

Jamie sees the nails and says they are nice.


It has the Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us feel and most likely it is just a future scene from it from Alison's point of view.

I like writing short stories, like short and grasping and Alison and Jamie.

I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to request for tomorrow.

Light Upon The Dancefloor

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Open Box

She fiddles with the white dress and it’s a bit too short and the scarf just falling around her shoulders to make it lest revealing gives her the feel that she might be young indeed, but then her hair would be short, but then she looks young, she looks like a child forced into life, just taken out of the insides with all the shells broken and all senses are given.

She eats a few raspberries and it’s early spring, but she wears that dress, even if it has a black outer layer, I still just see the white, maybe to see some irony with the awaiting wedding we all avoid and how she just wonders around the house, trying to get mascara right for the first time in years and I just watch the girl struggle, sometimes just looking up.

I feed her a raspberry, she opens her mouth to swallow.

“What do you want to do today?” I ask her, washing my hands off the raspberry with her tongue on my finger, I lure it out and her eyes just hold my gaze stronger.

“Nothing.” And her nothing hangs in the air as she washes more raspberries and the whole weight of groceries lately is just raspberries, maybe because it’s the only fruit she doesn’t see at the Hince’s.

“Why raspberry, Alison? Why did you stop the oranges for instance.” I don’t say anything else aloud, but then our conversations are held in silence as if every phrase we say is a Rubik’s cube solution away.

She just raises the hem of the dress a bit, maybe for all the raspberries to fall upon or maybe to trickle upon her feet as if they may be blood sometime soon or maybe she’ll hold the wounds until the wedding, but I could see Kate with her fourteen thousand nymphets and all the humans running around that force and myself sitting close to Alison and us just staring ahead, in time, waiting and guessing the flavor of the cake.

I got her cake for the morning, she still had the dress.

“I got you cake.” I say and I slice it.

“It’s not my birthday and there is no special occasion.” We barely speak our sentences dry and cutting the air so that it would bleed carbon dioxide and I open the milk.

She touches the cake and then she goes back to bed.

“What do you want to do at the wedding?” I ask her as she comes to the kitchen, the same dress maybe she wants a death on Kate as she wear will white and she is the black strangling the lower parts of the dress and Alison presses herself harder, cutting a cereal pack in half. “Look-”

There’s nothing I can do.

“What can I do?” And she shakes the remaining Corn Flakes onto the kitchen rugs and it feels like a road and a pavement with Alison standing, her arms spread out, waiting for a car and flynching until it knocks her out and Jamie would co-

And then I’d take the black fabric just to cover the groom in his grave.

I’d strangle him as he would wait and Alison would rub her hands against the jeans, the sweat too demanding to soak in rather than fall, as she is in a net and everyone knows, what happens once the cake Kate is eaten.

I open all the windows and Alison smokes.

“She’d fucking choke on herself.” Alison mumbles softly, not causing her death, but just showing a maybe one of two dresses more on herself and she’ll twirl like a fairy in a box which Jamie holds and all the fucking keys are his, even if I hold the box tight in my hands.

I stare at her.

I may kiss the box.

But I’ll never reach the fairy, which I may have in my hands.

I can just press my mouth to the keyhole and give her all the air, with her in the dark and without music, not knowing where the oxygen is coming from.

So I feed her grapes in the morning, something she and Jamie used to it.

I move the couch to the kitchen, you can see the sun from there, so she lies there for the next few days.

And the fairy ties my tie on the day of the wedding and the dress is gone but to be back in the evening, maybe I’ll ask Jamie for a key. But he’ll just smile and like vandalizing some wall on the street, he won’t do anything and Alison will just chain smoke with me wondering if I should just take a hammer and bang on the box.

The world will collapse, but the fairy might just get out without music, so I sit to chain smoke with her, as we watch the walks of the devil being held today and we are putting up the decorations as the devil has all the keys, that once either I smoked too much or a joint was passed, I recalled taking Jamie’s wallet out of some other things laying around.

I played the waller against my lips, as I saw all the little photo booth photos of him and Alison, all of them.

The wallet just had one credit card with all the photo booth photos they have ever taken together and that’s where all the weight was and where all the keys go, so after taking a few in my mouth and biting through their happy miserable faces, a few were gone and I was among a pile of some distorted Kills love life.

I think Jamie saw me and just sat besides me.

I didn’t know where Alison was.

But then we both don’t know what happens to an open box if the music and soul is taken away from it.

cover me in varnish from head to toe

Friday, 24 February 2012

Touching Yourself

Tear face off my black and white self whose face is all in what looks to be whipped cream but is -

I should say snow instead.

His beard is in snow and the razor is in my hands, as I trace his chin and his eyes are frozen and locked on the razor, the eyes just watching how it swishes the already shaved three times skin but he like a client wants even the skin off, so that the new red beard would be a new beard.

His hands are too white and he holds a new razor in his hand, he trails his hands up my blue suit and we just stare.

It’s a moment of passion and a kiss on cheek, kiss on cheek, kiss on lips. Then he just looks more like a fragnance with no colour just the smell and the sunken eyes looking so plastic and mouth a bit open as if something would slip from inside it, so I hold his shoulders. And there is a passionate kiss on the lips and the man is no longer myself and there is foam back on my face and he just takes my hand so that we’d walk the bathroom corridors with all the women doing their faces. And then they wax the faces off, leaving acne and pores.

All of them look lovely, as long as they can, but I keep my head down, as all of us three just walk past the bathroom into something which would be the living room after all the bathrooms and the women.

The walls and the ceiling is a rug with painting sewn on it with the paint drops rolling into the rug colour and making holes which reach the brick walls. I insert a finger inside to just make the hole bigger and i even press my mouth against it, feeling nervous as I feel myself, the one who is Santa today and apparently the only box of gifts would be his erection.

I see Jamie sit on the carpet, maybe the one on the ceilings and maybe it is cliche to touch yourself in front of an other in the living room, where all things take place and where the screen is the stage and life seems natural, as I unzip my pants.

Did you ever touch yourself for someone?

I lick a bit of Santa’s foam and I kiss him, as Jamie just sits in the couch, clean shaven and I think of all the women in their rows and I think if they could they would open all the doors and their acne would be their eyes to spy on homosexuality between males.

I watch Jamie touch himself and it feels that what if the women in acne would be all the women we know but we tear off the faces off our minds. What if this is just us being in separate rooms touching ourselves until we feel and in the night I just knock on his door and he lets me walk in.

Jamie stands still and he feels much shorter than I am, like a stuffed toy any daughter of mine would hug to bed with. I trace his body with my fingers as he closes his eyes and his forehead is against mine, sweat forming and blood going down along with my hands and head.

I stand on my knees and stroke his cock.

He kicks me on the floor, on the same coloured rug where I am touching myself and we link hands and laugh.

Maybe we’re high or maybe we’re rolling off a hill.

We don’t kiss.

We don’t touch yet.

We just grope each other’s bodies, he plays the notes which pull strings for my erection to grow and mouth to gently rub against an area of skin.

So when the room is a rug and Jamie smokes one of my cigars I touch myself by sticking fingers inside and the foam mixes with my own sweat as somewhere a memory of Jamie’s thrusting hard against myself and my hips aching before he gets us skin to skin level.

A man smaller than me is inside me.

And he can be me, maybe if he gets the right facial hair I once had or guesses the right rifs I did or fucks all the women I once fucked, but then, all of them stripped to their bones are the same.

And when I’m inside him, I light that same cigar and I stick it in his mouth and everytime I thrust the cigar thrusts with all the inhales, inhales, nails sparkling in sweat against the skin, toungues on lips, cock in hand, tugging so hard, penetrating all the chosen space.

It is about spreading the legs and contaminating the generation, which won’t be given despite the pleasure.

If we’re lucky enough we’ll get death.


I'm sorry for taking so long, as I've been caught up in everything, so yeah.

It ended up being short but to my point. I was thinking if it were a prequel to Lucky Screams or not, but I have a sequel to this one in mind, so perhaps:)

Tomorrow is Jack White/Alison in a dress/Kitchen

Thank you

<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="" data-blogger-escaped-href="">Open Box

Monday, 20 February 2012

Let's Not Know What Love Is

The hospital is always clean and is spacious.

And every time I recall it the rug changes, along with the reasons why I’m there.

I just sit there, the clock always still, sometimes I walk up to it, as the receptionist stares at me, sometimes he or she don’t even do anything, they just watch me grow to my height and play with the hands so that they’re straight on three a.m.

I went to the hospital at night.

I remember how I was shaken up to be there to go to a nurse.

And the nurse’s face changes every time, depending on which red hair or not, caught my eye.

She has pink hair.

Maybe if she’d wash it a bit more it would fade into red.

Sometimes after a bit of drinking into the morning it’s Karen smiling with a big knife, she liked cooking and big knives.

When I was young it was Meg with two pony tails and she’d feed me sweets after she’d go down on me.

“Hi, Jack.” Maybe this is a plain sexual fantasy where I’m aloud to simply unzip my pants and her mouth will just go on me as I will gently thrust inside her tongue and her tongue underneath, stroking my tip sometimes just to increase the pleasure, sometimes the lady on the reception turns into Karen, who touches herself or sometimes Meg pops in to say hi and kiss Karen a bit too passionately, but then it doesn’t look too pleasant so it’s just back to Karen.

I wonder if I ever end up in a hospital will it still be Alison with her legs crossed, maybe she should be in the reception just sitting, maybe neck tied up with a wound or waiting for a plain check and we would just be sitting, diagonally or back to back and she would stretch her arms so that her hands would fall on my neck, find all the stubble I have.

Maybe she’d laugh or maybe I’d be laying in bed with all the low fat yoghurts my kids would manage to sneak in.

Maybe Karen would be giving birth and I’d be getting a last pack of crisps and I would bump into her. Maybe she’d be holding Kate’s baby.

Maybe I’d just walk in the hospital.

Maybe I’d be a nurse.

“I’m waiting for a baby.” Maybe we’d share her cigarette. Would I have the money to pay for cigarettes, most likely I’ll be stuck a nurse for years and not even getting close to operations and this would be the first time I’d see the birth of a child.

“Are you pregnant?” I’d ask and maybe laugh, maybe it would be a joint and she would start asking me to sing the Yellow Submarine because we’d be in the underground car park and she’d just jump a bit around the park lot and now she has black hair and I’m finishing the joint and I laugh too much when the baby is here and I keep poking the parents to name the kid Alison even if it’s a boy and everything is too funny that I call myself Adam Laurie Lewis.

And maybe we’d meet up at the cafe across the road and we’d never know love and I’d be stuck sometimes playing guitar and maybe we’d have a small band and kiss.


Many years later on stage?

Maybe when I’d be done with my donut and she would smile and we’d smile.

But then today she’s a nurse in a dress and barefooted, no, she has the boots and I see something underneath, but she lets me unzip her pants and she has no underwear, she tells me my cure is to lick her as much as I can to feel good and I feel good with her hand around my cock.

Or maybe I should be the doctor and she should be giving birth to someone who is not me and I congratulate her, maybe the baby has no father or no mother or a mother and a father, maybe the baby will be given away or maybe to an orphanage.

I sit in the hospital.

She’s the nurse again and in reality it wasn’t a nurse, it never looked like Alison and she was a bit too skinny, her nails bright red, a dark chestnut and a bit too big of a smile, somewhere in her forties and I was too young to remember anything and I wouldn’t ejaculate in her mouth just because I’d be too nervous.

But I laid in the bed for a few months, asking not to close the curtains, but they would be anyway and I’d sight and maybe dream a bit about some girl I’d see in school, putting the covers over my face, coughing two times and maybe I’d wonder a bit which name would I choose if I had been the doctor, not high and maybe it would have been Alison’s baby indeed and I’d just smile and never know what love is.


I think the idea came to me as I was falling asleep and lately I've been really sticking places I've seen lately into my stories.

The title and it was through out the story was the song name of a White Stripes song, which is really good like the Stripes in general, really, You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told). After some hesitation, I got the title.

I hope you enjoyed it and I'm going over my shorter fiction period apparently, I hope you enjoyed it.

Feel free to request for tomorrow and thank you

<3 Touching Yourself

Sunday, 19 February 2012

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 5

I’ve dreamt about shooting people and then drinking tea in the morning, watching Alison play with the sugar cubes before killing them off with tea, but then maybe they just produce sugary tea?

I wonder if she would dye her hair and how short would her hair be once more or would it, do girls go in the past with the hair?

I wonder how would our first kiss go even if we’re past it and is it a good thing that I can’t recall, so I kiss her again and her head is literally in the bowl. It’s as if it’s the treat in the cereal box so I pull her by the hair a bit and her lips are swollen in milk.

I wonder how she feels to go in the streets and past that juggling hobo in the doorway of the closed cafe at night, would she stare at him?

She sings more and our doors are locked, but we lose track of time, so we just wobble into Tesco and the expiry dates give us a sense of time.

I tell her that we’ll marry and she asks me if we’ll have kids and I think for a good while and I stop playing for a few days, it’s this numb inspiration as I kiss her body straight from the shower and play with her hair a bit, because there is no dialogue in memories, not the exact one, maybe a few quotes pop in from while to while, some minor ones like

“Do you want grapes?” And I’d see her sit on the couch, eating the grapes, slowly, bursting some in her hands, her hair growing and sometimes we both look at the scissors and I kiss her forehead.

We have sex, but it’s not mutual, I try to turn off my mind if she’s on top, while she just studies my body if I’m on top, it’s as if we try talking to ourselves more and more.

She used to watch me choose vinyls just by their sleeves and she’d just stand there and then she started telling me which ones she wanted and then we slowly started talking and she said she liked kiwis.

We bought some kiwis and sat on the carpet, the guitar making a third person and I just pressed my head against her shoulder, digging my head in to reach her skin and we just sat there.

The first few songs were done on that evening, with my head touching her skin and she’d just lull me with her music until I put the guitar down and curled near her, pulling her towards me and if the expire dates are right we should reach December soon.

We buy a small Christmas Tree and Alison buys little plastic Jesuses, which look a bit scary and I think we should use them for easter and she laughs, hanging my sock instead of a star and kiwis, which she didn’t eat yet but the Jesuses give me nightmares for a bit and I tell her I love her before I go to sleep, a little prayer and Santa feels like Jesus now all of a sudden, so when she falls asleep for Christmas, I wait for Jesus.

I don’t find God, do I?

So I just smoke, the stale beer in my throat and Alison in my arms, maybe jesus is supposed to be the love we kill, so I just lean to have another year with the purity.

I invite a few friends over for New Years, but we end up escaping into the small bathroom and we sit staring at each other and when the countdown comes we don’t kiss, she hugs me and I nuzzle her neck, her touch faint yet her lips find me and the kiss is deep and I won’t know who made out with who this year and who woke up in whose bed, as we stay in the bathroom, counting the tiles drunk and penetrating a few times and there’s is too much love, so we fall asleep in a lukewarm bathtub, naked, sitting up, arms spread for the world to nibble.

I dream of a stage and her hair and fucking her afterwards, so we wake and make love or fuck.

My parents come over, they stay and go with Alison talking to my dad a lot and laughing that I look more like my mother, which I don’t, I look like my dad, but it doesn’t matter, so I smoke with her twice when they leave and we smile.

Maybe we are married after all.


I'm currently taking over their 4 year period when Alison is just living with Jamie, unfortunately, there is not much known, but then this is fiction and I hope you enjoy it.

I've seen the juggling hobo. He is real, just in front of something else, but yeah, he is real.

Thank you

<3 Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 6

Friday, 17 February 2012

Candy Mint
Clockwise Mint

I sit on the chair and I realize I want a cup of tea, but if I lift myself up from the chair I might miss my train, heading straight towards me, if I just fold the chair and hang it on my neck, just to give some weight closer between me and the earth.

I could go for a Sprite in the vending machine and then watch my train pass, just to put my chair back on the rails and sit there, getting the dirt out of fingers.

Trains are always late and so is my sanity, as I want some food, again and again before the train comes, like last time I wanted a cupcake and I went into this small store with grown and little girls eating cupcakes on a stick and one had pink hair.

She didn’t eat any.

I bought her a mint one and she ate it between cigarette drags.


It's more of a drabble than a short story, but I wanted it that way, as short stories tend to stick in your mind for the rest of the day.

It was inspired by a photo I saw on tumblr of a man sitting on a chair on underground rail tracks and there was a caption saying waiting for the eleven o'clock train while the clock was on something like two p.m.

I like cupcakes and I have a concrete store which I had in mind and is a taste of home and they have cupcakes on sticks, didn't try them yet as I go for the cupcakes usually, neither do I go for the mint cupcakes.

About the title I was really struggling between Candy Mint and Clockwise Mint, so I put them under each other more like a way to choose from.

Thank you

And tomorrow there will be a new chapter and after tomorrow there will be a Jack White/Someone/Hospital one


Thursday, 16 February 2012

Untilted 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 4

It’s like a black and white man holding a white piece of paper. Telling you what you see. Asking you what do you see, and you’ll see death. White becomes death. Death becomes the paper.

It’s amusing how thoughts of death just hit you not only in the middle of the night but while Alison was showering and her shampoo smelt of watermelon. A bit too sticky for a smell, like watermelon candy and she didn’t bother with me sitting on the toilet, glancing at her but my gaze fixed on the open door and a notebook sitting on my lap.

I scribbled some words over Alison’s, fixing them a bit, maybe age and wisdom being the cliche here and I kept talking to her as we’d shower of what would she want the artwork to be and what she thought should be on the walls.

I started waking up at night, sometimes a bit too much just to light a cigarette when the night was hidden under the curtains and Alison under the covers.

I wondered when would jealousy pinch me or would it be a slap and would I ever love another woman? The tension seemed to be here but the struggle if I should’ve suggested something seemed to rise along with her light singing against my music, she’d just sit there, first she hummed, then she began singing, sometimes we’d do covers.

She’d kiss me, sometimes, but not too much, mostly when I wouldn’t be paying attention as if she wanted me to forget it.

But then maybe I would, like when I’d be buying coffee, standing in a cue, wanting to just tear the thing open and swallow the beans and then just fling all the-


I told Alison about the girl who had been an ex-girlfriend of one of my friends, I didn’t say names just yet but the beans seemed to hum a name but not give out the letters, as we both drank the coffee. I said that she came from the middle east, did art and had quite a big studio where I’ve played once and it looked weird with all the plants with trails of oil on them and how her grin would be there.

Alison just sat there quiet and I finished my coffee and walked around the room for a bit.

She didn’t talk much, she’d just devour me with her eyes and her hair would grow and sometimes she’d cling onto my hand in the night. I wouldn’t speak much to her making the silent dialogue with her.

I went out another time, I don’t recall myself saying anything, Alison just sat on the couch, watching some news and I just left.

We hadn’t kissed in days and she stopped clutching my hand.

I forgot the address, so I wondered a bit on the street, hoping that I would find the girl, but I didn’t, so I just sat on the pavement, asking for a fag, getting a cherry flavored one from a passenger and a light from the third man in a row and we exchanged eye contact, maybe he flirted slightly, but I just made a long drag and thanked him.

I looked at the windows and one had a plant in blue oil paint. I figured and rang the bell, watching nothing swirl as she opened the door.

I didn’t even have a proper wank after Alison moved in and she stopped touching me. I looked at the girl and smiled.

She had some weed.

A lot of people have weed.

I recall it being rubbish, but I shared the joint and her brother joined in and we just all talked about stuff and I mentioned Alison and how I wanted to fuck her and how everyone was just like fuck america and I went back home with a fuck america intention.

I opened the door just to see Alison lying on the sofa, a bit sad, not raising her head and I sat on the floor, so that she’d put her feet on my shoulders for support.

“So, do you like London?” It seemed like a sad, easy question, but then there has been too much silence and I kissed her leg, Alison smiled.

“Not too talkative.” While her letters were long and she’d rant while in life she just seemed mute lately. I wrapped her legs around my neck for warmth. Maybe she’d react someday, yeah, and I’ll be gray haired and she’d just kiss me on the lips and I’ll just stare at her, because she’s open and then the imagery of her exposing her chest in front of me, takes me and I press my cheek against her leg.

Alison sits up.

She plays with my hair.

“I’m a bit jealous, I guess.” And she laughs, it’s a bit of a joke and it’s London and I look up at her and maybe she doesn’t want to kiss, but I pull her head lower to my own so that I can see her and I just press my forehead against her, her hands are on my shoulders and it feels tense, sexy, juicy, good, as she kisses me, slowly pulling me on top of her, as I slide her jeans down, my own underwear being a barrier, as we keep on kissing and her eyes open sometimes and she smiles wide, sometimes looking back.

Then as we have foreplay she starts talking.

“I saw, um, that VHS you had, Mullholland Drive it’s good. The plot and the characters and what the fuck is going on there?” And all is said in breaks when she grabs my head and sticks her tongue in and I begin the get nervous and I think of the coffee beans and the art girl and I go inside Alison.

We both stare.

I thrust.

Her body receives pleasure.

I thrust.

I am a bit dizzy.

I thrust.

She thrusts back.

I thrust.

It’s a mixture of us biting our bodies, licking sucking, stroking, slapping, grabbing, fucking, it’s literally fucking after all the fluids release she goes on top, moaning and I don’t care and I keep thrusting and it is me fucking the US and I tell her that laughing a bit after I come and she takes over and both comes.

She tells me something against my joke, but I don’t bother, I just watch her, saying that I want to go to New York, just all the americans here are losers who can’t really shag and I laugh.

She tells me to fuck off, laughing, lightening a cigarette and saying that she likes New York.


Sorry for the delay but now I am back, so request:)

I don't know Jamie's girlfriend name, so she is left nameless as choosing a fictional name is literally pairing up Jamie with someone nonexistent, while I know that he dated a girl like that, just not in deep details, but if you do feel free to point out!

Thank you

<3 Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 5


Watch cumshots
Because all of a sudden
Cocks make you shiver
And miss
While listening
You’ll come in my mouth
And I’ll swallow
Your cock
(Not those which I’ve seen online)

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 7

He had his hair back tomorrow along with the everlasting smile which peeked out from time to time convincing that it was going to last just like everything was supposed to once upon a time with the big carriages, blonde princes and fat pumpkins on the doorsteps not just on Halloween, but on Christmas, Thanksgiving and your regular Thursdays with the butter
on top, because the cherries are sold out.

With the freshly squeezed love from a soul.

I never tried it.

Neither did Macy.

But Jaidem did.

I asked him how it was, he made a face.


No, he said, it was sweet.

Gagging sweet.

So why did you stop?

Because she was the one with the sweet tooth. And humans aren’t supposed to share and give the best before thinking of themselves, so I found myself a sour one and she found the sweet.

Where is she now?


Because she likes sour?


Jaidem began to play with his pearls his gaze avoiding a pink one. Did he kill her as well? He shook his head? Suicide? Fuck off Devyn.

I stopped and pressed myself into Macy’s shoulder in the couch wanting it to swallow me so that no ground would divide us and that we wouldn’t have to wait to become whole after death, watching everything pass in the life in front of our eyes with our fingers laced believing that we are already together without the use of canned love and other chemicals floating in the air waiting to be breathed in and out to ruin the handmade lace and kisses, the freshly squeezed ones, without the lying flashy stickers, but the paints in the blood, invisible tattoos upon the tongues intertwined more than once a day, but the fingers forever laced even at a distance.

Like now when my hand is searching for the tips of her fingers to kiss and lay back and as said before lace to watch the end of the world because everybody broke into the canned factory and drank it all up to become cheap whores and we’ll laugh Macy, we’ll laugh at them peeking through the laced fingers closing our eyes to prevent us from watching that inhumanity and watch our own, laced with moons everywhere where no ladder of yours will be able to lead.

Because we’re already there, Macy with the fingers and bodies laced.

Sometimes I’d get over obsessed over Jaidem, how come he never called anyone, neither did Macy up to a point when I saw that the phone cord was cut off. The only numbers on my mobile were theirs with a bunch of locked if somebody managed to find my number or ask for nobody known to me in particular.


I stared at the sign, feeling an urge to break it but I bought a new one explaining that I needed one with a big space for numbers to block.
Macy said she wasn’t better. She was afraid somebody would steal her ladder. I told her I could buy her a new one. So can I, but what point is that buying something you lost?


Jaidem kept going outside for a second to return with the groceries to scrub dust of walls afraid to get dust inside. I saw him staring as dust fell on his finger burning a hole thought it. His hair stopped changing and he looked younger but once he shook it off everything was gone. He’d close windows, but Macy would open them saying that she still could escape and with a locked window it would take more.

It wasn’t about the locked window.

I smiled as she sat beside me, not glancing at the ladder but rather at something in front.

Jaidem continued scrubbing the dust ignoring how it seemed to bleach his skin and hair.

“Do you die, Jaidem?” Macy asked once as we had our food ordered due to a rainstorm which seemed to flood the mind of sane people leaking onto the street in pink goo. Jaidem nodded his mouth full, swallowed, took a sip noticed my curious and Macy’s as well gaze. He hesitated a while, looking down, down behind the table onto his feet, wiggling his toes and looking up.

“Yeah, everything dies.” And he took the dishes now empty and stuffed them inside to hurl and while as he picked on the dust on his fingertips. He noticed me staring and gave a wary smile closing the door to the kitchen, pressing himself against the half transparent door and putting himself into his warm embrace, lulling himself by soothing thoughts which had the lack of dust, death and long lost love he seemed to go on when drunk, sober or just in a nasty mood from watching me and Macy spring into the room with cheeks flushed, clothes messed up as if we were back in the teenage days, but then they never ended for Macy.

“I love telling about myself in interviews.” I say all of a sudden as I flip through the menu glancing at the girl with her black lace hair. She raises her head with an automatic slow ‘hmm’ coming from her mouth, as I repeat my sentence to her. I do not require a reply and certainly not a question as this seems more like a statement, like a death sentence where I always imagine a glance to the sky to see if there is a leak of approval, like tears. “But then I regret it.”

“I love opening myself like a corpus in the autopsy where nothing is held from the doctor the human doesn’t refuse. If it would, it would have done something. Like the human head when biting the stair only the thought and determination different.”I thought about it for a while, watching her, feeling a light attraction. “But then there’s the afterlife to regret.”

“If you get one.” Jaidem said once throwing the plates into the sink so rough that I could hear them break. He took off the dust off his fingers which was returning him to his younger years and glued them back and lit a cigarette. Macy took one, did she smoke?

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Untilted 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 3

I recall

What do I recall

One morning when she had left and I just looked at the wall, before there were no iPhones and a polaroid would be a treasure to get so I just took a polaroid of her at the airport.

And before that we just lay in bed, myself standing up to change vinyls and her eyes would take my body as I took off my shirt and just stood there like that and she just well, she just put her nose under the covers.

We didn’t kiss much asides once when she was brushing her teeth and I just flung myself at her, holding her and Alison’s grip would be tight on me and I shoved us both under the shower and she turned on the water, trembling hands and then we just looked at each other.

I gave her my clothes and with hesitation a pair of lime green boxers which were a bit big and I just stared at her naked, but I turned around and she said nothing.

I recall drinking Twinnings with lemon she had asked to buy the day before while we went to stock up for the last weekend in bed.

I just had a few polaroids of her and most were up close, her face, not her body, I remember just looking around the whole flat in hope she forgot or lost something and I had found nothing and I sat near the winter coat hanging on the corridor.

I didn’t open the window curtains for a month, knowing that she wouldn’t peek in.

I got her address, her letter came first and there was no love or hints of kissing, so I wondered what would happen to all that love I gave her. In the end she gave me a love in the end and I just watched television, well, I put it on and I scribbled a reply saying that a more detailed and thought through letter would be next, as most likely she wants something from me as well, I loved her and I enjoyed just strolling around London and going into random places to drink beer and eat at the end of the day with her gig money and my left overs.

It wasn’t a date, we wouldn't dress up much ad I would wear sweaters which she would put over herself and if it were to cold she’d put one on before she had the guts to hug me.

I wanted to call her but then the call would be the cost of my rent as I would just tell her that I love her that I want to touch her and

She called me for Valentine’s Day. She said hello, she didn’t ask me to be her valentine so neither did I. I wondered what vinyl should I give to her when I’d see her, I tried saving up money to see her and she told me her hair grew a bit and I listened to her bragging that it’s always been short and after a hesitation she thought growing it and I smiled, wondering if I would be the first to see it if we’d lock ourselves up here as usual and I imagined her opening the door and I wondered if I wanted children with her.

I guess I would, I wondered if the flat would be the same and if the sweaters would be as shitty.

I just roll over on the other side and I want to see her, I want to hear her, I want her.

And the covers don’t seem to give much warmth anymore so I pull on a sweater and I barely touch myself, I want her to do it. Once, I touched her, just slid a hand inside and so did she in a pub, slightly, as tongues rubbed and I remember being a bit shy, but she kept stroking and in the end we both smiled and kissed in the night, as I put a hand around her.

I do tapes, I do lot of tapes, I believe that is what happens to my sperm.

So I just play, not liking it, but thinking that it might lure her instead of cheap punk, so I just play and it keeps recording and sometimes I speak to her, sometimes it’s me as I think if I should find a woman who resembles her, but is dumb, so I could fuck her and never go inside Alison, just to keep the struggle, but then she loves me.

I’d fuck her anyway, so I sit down with a letter thinking what to tell of how I want her however she wants me and I tell her I love her again and I’m sure Alison would smile and all is

A letter which she sends months later when I wear the shirts instead of coats and I think of traveling north just to see something than the streets I see with her, that she’s moving.

I call her, delaying the rent and a few cans of beer.

“Hi” I hear her voice and shyness muffles her as if it can be in her mouth and I just listen to her ask if I’m there and I want to touch myself, but I hold, my jeans still on.

“Hi. I miss you.” Even if I would see her in a week and I think Alison nods, just nodding really and I’m tense and she’s tense. I don’t have the guts to tell her that I want her, to spread her out, make her wet, does she wax? Shave? And how she feels, how her skin is naked on mine and how nude we’d both be and where her legs would be.

We both don’t say much in the first second.

Then I go on talking a lot about her, her hair, her eyes.

“I-I love you.” Is what I say. “I mean, it’s great with you coming over and fuck, we can make the band and I’ll see you. And if you want I can give you the couch, I mean, no one would steal a couch until you’ll come and I don’t think I’m going to sell it for drugs, I can sell my fridge and well, I never have much food. The bugger is empty anyway. And the bed, well, it’s hot and fuck, you’ll like it, you’ll have me staring a bit, sometimes, and you’re sexy. I mean, yeah.”

I don’t say much. We hang up soon and I just reread the letters wondering if I fold them like a colibri would I get a hidden sexual desire she has, so I just stroke myself and I wonder if she would be doing the same thing, spreading out her legs, locking the door and softly touching her clit, maybe licking her fingers and a soft breath out

I come too fast as I see her fingering herself and I wonder if I’ll wake up from this and have her taking off her clothes and just sliding myself in and screaming.

Don’t cry.

She cries at the airport, a bit, with a few bags and I just keep talking about that I love her, that her voice, I want that voice with my music that we will make it as a band and buy all of Bond street to live in and that we’ll close the streets and buy all the vinyls and the rare ones we saw which a mate of her wouldn’t sell to her and that we’d have loads of guitars and that we’ll be on posters, that we’ll create a new underground, that I love her, that I love her.

Alison agreed but I kept talking, barely touching her, grabbing the guitar at once when we went into the apartment.

She hugs me as I play, pressing me hard against her, her hair longer and I turn my head back and she holds it.

“Keep the tension, it’s a so-” I mock her, but she grabs me and takes off my shirt, I’ve never seen so much lust as she takes off hers and I see her naked again and my cock wants her, I want to ask her to just go somewhere or just stand and let me in forever.

I go inside her on the bed, her hands are all over my body and I love her, I’m trembling while she is thrusting and she’s the one in control here, eyes closed and teeth biting my lips, her hands playing with her breasts, my balls, my neck, my butt cheeks.

She tells me she loves me and I’m scared.

So then Alison takes my face, thrusting.

“-” She doesn’t say anything she just comes and thrust so hard that I am fully in and I scream, filling her in,

I look down on her and her eyes.

“What do you think of getting married someday?”

Maybe that wasn’t the moment I asked her then or maybe that’s where all the dedications go to, my wife and she knows that.

All the ignorance is for me to steal a part of her, physically. Like that time I went backstage down on her and after she came, kept my nose on her thigh, loving her.


The ending of it is inspired by The Kills NY concert, we all know who his real wife is right?:)

I hope you enjoyed it and happy Kills anniversary indeed!

<3 Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 4

Saturday, 11 February 2012

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 2

She kept back and she’d buy vinyls of bands I suggested and lost and she’d just go with them. She surely had much more money than I did, I still felt as if I were buying condoms every day in Tesco.

I would wait until she would crawl in my apartment and we’d both light cigarettes not talking too much and then I would raise my eyes to merely stare at her and she would smile back.

I could’ve offered to show her around but she seemed to know her way already, going into streets I’ve forgotten where I had wanted to take her hand, the passion merely fading out as her blush would go and the gazes would be more intense as if someday we’d marry and juggle babies on our hands only the difference would be that on the photos we’d smile even if there would be alcohol and lying in a bed with insomnia.

I invited her over to sleep once and I remember just laying on the floor, a spare pair of covers which I had just borowed being too hot and Alison had actually started talking more about herself, how she had been singing and how I would love to lick her voice and I just sat up, watching Alison light a cigarette in the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” Alison asked a bit quietly, giving the situation a more of a dreaming feel and I just wanted to go under the covers with her, hold her and go on top, plunging my tongue in as she’d clench for my shirt and maybe tear it off.

I just stood up and went on one half of it.

“It’s my bed.” She moved.

I switched sides and closed my eyes.

Alison went to get some tap water, still feeling a bit uneasy about it and I could her the water running even more and maybe she had been shaking as the days of her left in London were actually running to a countable few.

Standing up was easy but seeing her just fall asleep on the edge of the tub with the head pressed against the wall was harder. I wondered if I should’ve thrown her in and let the layers of water just take over her as I’d hold her shoulders and only then I’d go inside her, watching her eyes not find me in the only spot the vision is dried on.

I could’ve slapped her to wake but instead I put my fingers on her cheeks, stroking it, slightly pulling her shirt collar to touch the neck skin and breathe in her, as I’d strap her legs around me and twirl us for a bit so that she would wake and I’d not let her wobble to sleep, instead she asked me to twirl her more and I wondered if then the room had felt so small and her arms were around mine.

“London hates you.”

Someone said that line and I recall kissing her briefly and her hands clutching the back of my head and how her feet would try to make their way around the hips and how between kisses there would be tongue on the neck and how she cried a bit saying that she wanted to go home, not knowing.

I wanted to be her home and

“My home is your home.” Maybe London would be home with all the magazine cut outs all over and all teh glue sticks gone missing.

“I love you.”

And I twirl her.

And we don’t have sex until we both say so and how everything spins once I’m inside and I wonder what would lack of sleep be as I thrust in and Alison was just as tense and I stopped as she cried.


And that is the end of part two. I'm still recovering from everything, but I'm on my break from Tuesday, so I'm more rested? xD

Request for the next chapter really.

Thank you

<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="" data-blogger-escaped-href="">Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 3

down from the heavens

sing me a lullaby
which will tear up my soul
and you'll be able to hang
upon the door
as if it were
another door
to the heavens
which you hang
outside your mouth
so swollen
so rotten
that a plastic bag
could be the plug in your mouth
as you kiss from the heavens


Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 6

Would you like to star in a movie?

Excuse me?

Y’know, in a movie, a real one with explosives-

Explosives? I flinch whenever one is on the screen as I beg for them to change to see blood and not ketchup and no bloody salt caught in the whore actor’s eyes.

And with your face everywhere, on ads, girls shrieking, boys copying you to get a date?

What grow their hairs and have hay sticking out of their armpits?

Would you?

Fuck no. I’d rather starve then turn into a whore, a whore to get fucked by millions, a model wife and countless houses.

Is that why your apartment is empty?

Excuse me?

You barely have any furniture, Devyn. Weren’t you on Cribs?

Why would MTV want to stalk my apartment?

No, it wasn’t cribs.

I remember the incident when two robbers came with nothing out of my house beside my credit card taken from my mattress and my TV set and other small things which I replaced afterwards.

Why is your apartment empty? Is it connected to your childhood? A fear of letting go? Is that why are you so eager of keeping? Are you married? Do you have a girlfriend? Is she pregnant? Are you two-timing her? Did you really make-out with Anne in the first ever role? Will you have sex with her publically in the sequel? Wouldn’t that make a juicy scandal? Are you willing to pay to get this information off board? How do your parents feel about that? How come you haven’t talked to them since the millennium? Did you run away? Did your brother die? Did your sister commit suicide? Is she alive? Do you have grandchildren? Was your granny an astronaut? Were you a fan of Bowie? What celebrities have you seen recently? Have you had an affair with any? How would you rate her kissing on screen? Is it faked is it real? Have you been in love? Do you believe in love? How do you feel about marriage? You seem to be wearing rings lately? Is it because of a role? Who was your teenage idol? Is it true that you have a tattoo? Is it your own art work? Have you been kicked out of kinder garden for climbing heights and knocking kids down? Did you beat up your own teddy bear? Do you like pickles? Do you have any bad habits? Aren’t you afraid of lung cancer? Would you shoot yourself? Would you jump off a cliff to save a relative? How come you earned the reputation of a beauty when you’re horrid in real life? Do you like to dance? Would you eat a fish alive? Would you hop around for money? Fur or naked? How come you haven’t been in an advertise? Why? Which? Who? Do you consider yourself to be the mortal named after or the God?


The mort-



I flung out the free copy of the photo and fed it to the nearby dog just to watch it die, so that the alleyway will be cleaner.

The dailies got long, boring and soon ending. I knew that it couldn’t last long, Jaidem watching after the apartment, Macy flicking through channels and me reading the suicide role aloud. It seemed to go round and round until I gagged on my meatball.

“You okay?” Macy asked, taking a sip from her glass of water she just ordered from the waiter who seemed to wink a lot for no exact reason. I looked up at her just to drain the remains of the liquid I ordered. I ran a hand through my shorter hair wishing it to shrink so that I had to shave it along with the annoying facial hair Jaidem seemed to grow while to while ranting how come I was killing my own when it was as shiny as my hair.

“I still think that you shouldn’t deny love-” Macy started all of a sudden maybe she her first love in the restaurant hugging a busty blonde or rather just saw a glimpse of how he was now. Either way that seems to put a hole filled with something which was labeled ‘first love’ before. What happened to it? I had a role a constant monologue of first attraction denial, how she still haunts him but he gave up on her not understanding what the fuck was going on in his soul when he saw her with others or how she still managed to fiddle with him from while to while with nothing exact, just a constant blur which the character declares his life is.

“I just hate the word. Even passion doesn’t sound as filthy or attraction. It’s a holy bond which is different from the crap we get poured into. If you put it that way.” I stopped realizing how indescrete I was. “I was in ‘in love’ the one the books tell to discard with the rest and yes I’ve been in the real one as well.”

I could have raised myself from the seat then to end everything and grab her home bit nothing of that happened because there was more to go along with the dessert and main course in chit chats.

Jaidem through a fit for no reason as he went bald. I told him he was old. Macy told him that he looks nice bald like that shooting guy with the epic taking off glasses an stuff in the new video. Jaidem ranted that nobody understood him. I told him that only bald guys understand bald guys.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 7

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Moonage Daydream

Maybe it’s just one of those days when you wake up and while cooking eggs you just stand near the stove the day being the first day of death.

It’s more about thinking if you’re dead or not, what if you repeat all your actions in your head when you’re laying unconscious, smiling at all those people walking around in circles around your body humming songs in their heads which were once in yours.

And then you start thinking what’s really relevant when you strum yourself to the guitar.

And then a bunch of images appear like meeting Meg for instance or Karen taking the kids away last night leaving me in an empty house as I walked in room by room turning off the lights and then going around with a lighter listening to turntables.

I put on Bowie with Moonage Daydream.

I recall calling Meg and telling her about how weird it was and I kept flicking my lighter on an off, trying to light an imaginary roll of tobacco and nearly burning my lip.

She never liked Moonage Daydream that much really, she just thought she knew how to play it and she did. I recall how Meg told me the song and I had smiled and how we’d play it live and how I would feel her eyes being the audience behind me and the crowd would be a wall, I, still a shy kid would sing to.

The choice to end was really a foolish attempt to get rid of everything at once and well, not torture Meg.

I had wanted to hug her that night and I told her that I’d want her right here in my arms with the only light from my hands and Moonage Daydream on and we’d have the lights turned on by Alison or someone else and our eyes closed as our bodies would be given to other people and divorce would be in our mouths.

She came in the end when Moonage Daydream was finishing it’s ninth play and I had smiled at her and the skirt she wore.

Meg drummed with her fingers and I just put my head on her shoulder and she stroked my cheek.

I recall how we shared a milkshake, as I had no idea how to attract her as she’d smile and slowly reveal herself as mostly we talked about music and she’d tell me bands I would not know and understand what I meant and she seemed lovely.

I recall kissing her.

I recall marrying her.

I recall divorcing her.

And I kissed her neck then, softly, looking at her eyes in the lighter’s light and swallowing a bit of fear to just leave nothing to stare with purity, not some innocence which is glossy and hard to swallow, but purity and I just smiled at her.


It is short but I just can't see them doing anything forward if it is in the present I was fiddling with the idea of the past, but ended up in the present and it is a lovely fact thatMeg played Moonage Daydream to Jack in the beginning.

I love Meg's purity.

Thank you

Feel free to request


Monday, 6 February 2012

5th February 2012

Let me fall asleep in your arms

As you won’t be able to carry me during the day

When I stalk you behind the stage

And a love which is not meant

The lyrics stick to your head, not too good with a pint and an empty home.

The kids are over at Karen’s and Alison’s pink seems like a glossy anthem to her lost love as well as I let her in and she looks older, I look older and so do all the faces which listen to me. It feels as if we’re all getting slowly dragged into death to be erased like chalk from the board only with feet, as our arms are gone.

I kiss her on the cheek and I’m too drunk to mimic Jamie, but I do and I do her lips.

She’s too sober to mimic so she slips inside and takes the coat off when the Christmas lights are off in a second,

this is grief.

This is the mourn to the end and a song to the dead, an ode to the heavens when it’s four and you can’t go back.

Love is the illusion you can fake.

So I just strip her and she objects, so I offer her tea and she slowly denies and accepts coffee without the lights in the kitchen as three or four stars light up our room and I just hold her hand and I’m crying.

She offers me to dance and she sings some lullaby maybe her grandparents sang to her and her hips seem too fragile so I hold them and I want to slam her against the wall.

It’s not the first time and not the last time when she’s sneaked in and had me inside going up and down the black being the curtain of shame to the pleasure as I would pull her hair back to see her orgasm.

I undo her jeans, being possessive with a shaking soul.

She undoes the zip and goes down to her knees and just takes me in her mouth.

Maybe it’s her cheap way of saying fuck off to watch television in the night as she would cry and no program would be nice, but we’d share the same bed, mourning over those we lost but never buried due to their age and their religion and the simply ability to walk and exchange children.


When you’re crying

So that the two barrel would be lifted up

And Alison would press it against my forehead, herself naked from the waist down so that I would see the Lord when I take the gun in my mouth as much as I can take

So that the colour would be vivid and lovely

I touch myself

She laughs

It’s not whisky

It’s not drugs

It’s the air we all breathe with the mourned

So shoot love shoot

So that my love will be gone from this earth

You walk on

With the beloved

And the children

And I will move on in little minds

Because that is where

My thoughts should wander off

Into the young dead

Which do not live

Until my blood


Goes into them

So I stick my fingers into the rug

As I bleed

And Alison watches

Lighting a cigarette upon me

She puts herself behind me

Gives a gun to my hand

As my eyes dry

I should shoot

But I don’t

And I die

Tainting the world

With a musical note


Today a relative, beloved relative passed away, which should be well, the whole


The whole death and going on.

Only it's not someone who you barely knew and barely care, but someone you loved and it's like what the fuck is going on even if death was predicted and needed to end.

It's not something I want to keep quiet about, but I will keep it a bit censored for just cause sake.

Thank you.

My internet died and now it's back with the story.

It's not a death which pulls you back to mourn but a death which pulls you forwards because someone who spend their life like you are going with yours


You are the future.

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us

It’s about mixing the colours in the mind.

And I just take the pink and the black in my mind as I struggle as she looks back.

The silence seems to feed us.

I remember just fixing the guitar or rather I felt as if I were sleeping, wait, I was playing the guitar, falling asleep and I was dreaming that I should fix it.

There was no snow.

There is no fucking snow in London, she didn’t even have her hood up, she just stood there in a hoodie. Her short hair matched the colours of the fabrics she wore and she shivered slightly. I played a wrong note, but she stayed.

I stopped playing and then she just sat down on the stairs.

Maybe I should have taken out some apple for her to eat as I would think that I would get a crowd, but instead I stopped playing and turned on some TV flicking through the channels and wondering if I had enough money to just keep on sitting and flicking through TV as people would be late for work.

I wonder if she’ll be there once I actually just sit near the window sill and I start playing.

I open the window.

She isn’t there.

So I close it.

I start playing.

I see her walk past and onto the stairs, I hear the door open, so I stop playing.

I put the guitar aside and I actually feel myself worried. It feels as if I’ve never had an audience but maybe it’s because I could be checking my mail with her staring at me in the next morning and she’ll say hi and maybe even say her name.

I go to get groceries and I wonder if she chooses the Sainsbury’s which is on the corner rather than this small Tesco, so I just stand in the line, wondering when was the last time I’ve gone out to eat even pizza and a glass of beer, so I just exhale and I look at all the scattered chewing gums with different flavoured condoms for a quid.

Should I get them?

I just look down at my old sneakers which feel exactly like my socks when I just lean my feet against the wall and wonder if I can tear off the wallpaper at dawn and I smile wrapping myself up in my covers and I wonder if tomorrow will be the day when I trim my hair by myself.

I wonder if those two I have are expired but then don’t condoms last for a year? And I limit myself the apple supply by getting a pack and wondering which occasion do I have and wanking in rubber isn’t that comforting while asides the fact that when you lie in bed you have the illusion that you might just have came inside some vagina and that those are mixed fluids and that maybe she got her period and she’s applying a tampon or walked outside and got lost in the sea of tampons and didn’t come back.


And that’s why your bed smells of sperm.

So I just lay, wondering if I should drag that small television over here or if I should flick through the magazines the previous owner left, cutting out faces and them sticking it onto the girl’s forehead and kissing her cheeks.

Seemed too naive.

So the next time I play I open the window and I try to guess her near to twenties age and she just looks at me and I smile.

“Hi.” I say. Hands on the windowsill and she has her hood up this time actually and her face looks red not from the winter soothe but from her feelings.

“Hi.” She says and walks a bit closer to the window so that I could touch the tip of her nose if I really wanted to. “I like how you-you play.”

I lean against the window sill and my old t-shirt’s back hole feels a bit too big and thin, so I am thankful to the radiator against my knees. I don’t invite her over, we just stare at each other for a while.

“Thanks.” I laugh and I wonder if she’s even over her eighteens as she doesn’t apply much kohl and she looks like if you give her a lollipop she’d smile and actually skip.

I want to ask her if she wants candy.

Instead I close the window sill, smiling and drag the bed covers on the floor, covering myself in them, as she gets to the window and smiles at me, waves, all red and leaves.

There is a band tonight and I sneak in because the music is too loud and I know the bartender and the bartender knows that I’ll drink so much that I’ll pay for the tickets twice and the band is shit. It’s too cliche punk and I just sit there, not even looking at the stage but being glad to the amount of alcohol going to my mouth and in the end I look to see the screaming and I see the girl who I bought the condoms for and I just look at how she jumps and moves.

I smile and I keep watching her, amused by how red she is and how fiery her voice is and

Well, I’d use those condoms and I look down at the liquid to drain it. Not sure she’d go for the sweater I’m wearing for warmth even if it’s too hot here. I press myself against the counter and I watch her, my vision going blurry as I see her on top of me and I want to touch myself, so instead I just tap myself to the music.

Maybe I will use those condoms indeed.

I scratch my head the next day, should’ve washed, should’ve bought shampoo.

I have the box near the socks which are near the radiator and I touch myself on the rug near the windowsill with the open windows and I imagine her slowly taking off her clothes and I think by the time I will come my face will be just as red. I wonder how many blokes came inside her or were they all rubber?

I keep sliding my fingers up and down and I wonder if she, well, she’s American, she should give a blow job, right?

I recall the first one which was due to myself talking about guitars and the girl just going down, being one of my school friend’s girlfriends.

The sensation for whatever reason, maybe due to age, I stuck the girl stalker and I kept stroking harder, harder and I had a knock on the window, harder


she knocks

too good




“J-just a moment.” I say and I am covered in myself.

I wipe my hands on my legs, shaking I get a pair of jeans from under the bed and I open the curtains to greet the girl with my jeans unbuttoned, but I cover myself from myself with the guitar and I start playing, watching her.

After a song I open the window.

“Hi.” I say and keep playing, a bit more quiet, grinning, trying to get her to grin.

“Hi.” And she just looks at me, gets a bit of her hair behind her ears.

“You were amazing yesterday. Uh, I saw you, like with your band playing. You’re amazing.” And I smile at her and she just says nothing. I want her. “Uh, wanna come inside?”

And she just makes her way in and I open her to greet her. I button my jeans as we enter the small amount of space between the walls and she chooses a pillow lying on the floor to sit on and I don’t offer her tea, I think of bringing us water but instead I sit opposite her, wanting to touch her and kiss her, so badly, as if I didn’t touch myself before and she just smiles.

“I’m Jamie.” Should I say that I’m thirty? But instead I want to lean so badly and I want to see her breasts, I want her to talk of America as I would flick through the channels and kiss her thighs.

“Alison.” She smiles and she’s all red again.

I find her cute.

She finds me cute.

We might just as well eventually kiss.


I'm sorry for taking so long to post this, I am currently ill and I believe the medicine I'm on makes me drowsy so I spend a lot of time sleeping or waiting to drink it or eating. Very fun.

But I'm feeling better and hopefully I will have the Jack/Alison up soon. Sorry about the delays once more and do keep the requests coming.

If anyone feels like it I can continue this story, so really just tell me either here or on tumblr and I hope you enjoyed at my attempt to guess what actually happened between Jamie and Alison.

The title was a quick attempt to name the file and it's reference to the beginning.

Thank you very much

I hope you enjoyed it

<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="" data-blogger-escaped-href="">Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 2

Thursday, 2 February 2012

And She'd Take Off The Stars

“She’d look like a schoolgirl, despite her lately older appearance and my own.”

“She’d be walking down those streets with an apple in hand and maybe she’d be throwing it up and catching it.”

“Or maybe she’d buy those sushi sets for a quid.”

“I think I’d stalk her as she tries to find a mirror to find the correct shade of red gloss.”

“She’d be a teenager and I think I’d always be the same edge and her hair would be black and be shorter, maybe a bit above her shoulders or maybe too short and she’d laugh too loud.”

“I think portraying her innocence would be too dumb.”

“She wouldn’t be a virgin.”

“But she’d have the grin.”

“You don’t just open up to the public.”

“Most likely she just said to a few friends under a smoke with the eyes closed.”

“What else would she do?”

“I think she’d just stand there maybe a bit nervous and the lipstick would nearly go up her elbows with all the pencils and everything as she even starts drawing patterns nervously and her hair never reaches her eyes, the fringe being to short so the option of kissing the hair away doesn’t exist.”

“So I just wait there, being an assistant, I can’t seem to picture myself when young, so I just walk up to her.”

“You just can’t say.”

““Hi, Alison?” Yeah, I can’t. So I don’t indeed.”

“I think you’d stare at her.”

“Yeah.” And I just stare at Jack for a minor second, lighting the cigar and releasing the smoke through his nostrils as I stare at him and then I just take the glass of nearly finished whisky and drink it.

Jack keeps watching me and I pour more whisky.

I wonder what would happen if Alison would walk in with her newly pink hair and my eyes seem to be watery. I feel as if I’m one hundred and one. I wonder what would she say if she would choose the cheap sushi or the apples.

“So what would you do?” Jack asks me again, maybe knowing that my ring is heavier than his which is no longer with him. I close my eyes.

“I’d kiss her.” I say softly.

“Really? Just like that?” He smirks softly, biting the end of the cigar, watching me, fixing his hat.

“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders. “Why not? It’s just a thought and I like Boots.”

I don’t know why I said that, I’ve just walked in there a few times to see Kate on the ads and trace her hair for a bit and get a few questions by the shop assistant who looked too blonde for me, but I smiled.

“Well.” It was too short our replies and Jack wouldn’t be the assistant any longer, I was the assistant now staring at the girl and wanting to kiss her so badly. But what would I actually do? Raise her skirt and stroke her thighs before going on my knees and pulling her so that I would be able to suck.

Or would I just strip her from her clothes.

Or would I do nothing at all?

“Do you like sushi or apples?” I ask her, but Alison doesn’t say anything, my mind cannot decide so she has both in her bag. I think she is beautiful.

She is, so I smile and I give her a shade I think would suit her and she just silently takes it, thanking me and then I touch her short hair.

I press my nose against it and her whole body eases like after our first orgasm when we both didn’t know we would come up with tension as we just lay and Alison recalled those glow in the dark asteroids and stars her brother used to have and she would sneak in when he would sleepover at friends.

I suggested her to get them.

And we did.

Before she went on the staircase.

Well, it was the last time we properly kissed.

Pulling close and full of lust, then she went on the staircase and I cling onto her waist, kissing it.

“I love you.”

She put the first star up.

“I want you.”

She put up an asteroid.

“I love you too.”

She replied and kissed me. We were both shaking.

No, we had kissed, a lot, but everything, everything I’ve tried to do was gain the tension before the stairs.

I remember us talking about rings once we’d get richer, before we had confessed, the love letters seeming to escape us.


It just can't be longer. It's the way it is and sad indeed. I like how the title is actually the ending, well, the inspiration was from The Last Goodbye video.

The whole schoolgirl idea came as well in a bus, well, I think, I recall thinking or when was it? xD Anyway, I was struggling if apples or sushi, as I like both and which would suit more, so there you have the hesitation.

I hope you enjoyed it and please do request.

<3 Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us

My Scarf

Wear my scarf

As I dangle from the wire

Locking it in my fingers

Even if it were just nostalgia

I believe it’s the same cloth

And there is no phone anymore

But something thinner


If you take it all at once

My scarf is a replacement.


The title was chosen for the irony, really. The idea came from a Kills photo.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 5

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

“I hate the word love.” I cut the stake in half, even the bull thought that he loved.

“Why?” She chews slower, her icy eyes focused upon my face.

“It’s so fucking sugar coated. It’s like… I’d raise religion, but-” I drop the idea. “It describes what? A fucking heartbeat when you see him, the owner of sexy blonde hair with a Godlike body with his arrows aiming at your heart to rip it out and bite on it as he cheats on you.”

“You don’t believe in love? Fate? Eternity?” Macy stops eating, putting her fork aside and drinks her still water, wondering why she didn’t hesitate and said the first thing which came to mind? I shook my head.

“I do. Just not in that word. Like you believe in the afterlife but you don’t believe in heaven or hell I guess.” I said frowning at my comparisons.

I took her home not for anything, I don’t remember was it due a record I had or just a new movie or a plain political channel I had managed to catch while it was forbidden with politics running around as sock puppets?

I asked her if she was afraid. Macy just shrugged, tilted her head towards the ladder hidden under her arm, peaking out of each side, waiting to be unfold, put on the pavement and climbed towards the stars.

“I can escape any time, actually. All I have to do is open a window and climb out with my ladder. Maybe that’ll be the path towards there.” Another eye gesture towards the sky but I saw nothing that a thick layer of clouds hypnotizing the night upon us because they were paid to do that. I grin at her, lacing my fingers again quickly glancing downwards at her combat boots which raise her for a bit more than a few inches but she still looks young and short fitting her image of a teenager girl in lace.

“Oh.” What could I answer? Nothing came to mind as we walked up the stairs there was no point in the lift as I wasn’t as high up with the windows leaking onto the street so low that you could spit on their heads and clearly see what they had in answer. I fiddled with the lock wondering if it was the right key, but Jaidem, who managed to steal a spare opened with his eyes softer than yesterday with a newly shaved stubble with some shaving cream on his bottom lip. I nodded at his lip in a form of a greeting and he shooed my reaction off with several hand gestures. Not rude, mind you.

Macy looked at Jaidem as he looked back at her. Her dark eyes went wide as he grew gray and blonde the next second, I told her to shrug it off, not feeling easy with the amount of strangers in my empty flat. I lifted a finger to bite on, but realizing that I didn’t like biting my own flesh I dropped it, pushing my palms into my pockets with deep force as if they could drift into the under the sea world to meet with friendly stars and biting comets. Everything going up and down space mixing with sea.

I’d like to die there, bubbles flowing out of my mouth, my hair strangling me like a curtain blocking the final rays of the sun as it flashes in and out until it’s gone with Jaidem laughing at my feet.

“Devyn?” I turn my head to see Macy in a conversation with Jaidem. I take several steaks out of my face but most of them are still stuck like glue waiting to grow into my skin and pierce my eyes. I nod as a sign that I am participating in the conversation and that I’ve just answered with a silent ‘what?’

“Did you buy tea? I said we’re running out of tea.” Jaidem moaned and Macy looked back at the skinny morphing figure with now red hair sticking out of his skull in patches were gray was walking all over. I shake my head in disapproval. He pouts and mimics my hands deep in the pockets gesture and smiles at me, gesturing his fingers down as they jump two stairs at a time with a quick glance at the teenage girl he already has a jacket turned long sleeve shirt, he opens the door, doesn’t ask if anything is needed.

He closes the door behind him.

Jaidem never left my apartment before. I hesitate for a second, as Macy finds the remote and flicks through channels, through the endless sea of pop, as I yank the door open.

Jaidem’s gone.

I look at the corridor, I feel like running outside screaming where the hell he is as I’m used to his after shave up on the walls. I close the door, pressing myself against the rough material.

Macy looks at me with her knees pressed to her chest, ladder near the window its stairs going straight towards the silver medallion locked in the black cage of the sky.

Lock opens.

Jaidem steps inside, grinning wildly, grocery bags filled with the long gone chocolate, bananas, coffee and lettuce I find myself eating in the middle of the night, as the morphing man eats popcorn to late night movies with tears mixed with blood pouring out of the ears.

Macy doesn’t raise her eyebrows, she watches carefully, not glancing at her escape pod, because there is no need now, as I take the box of Kleenex to soak the aftershave to rub it into the walls, in case he leaves the streets empty with zombies crawling.

As zombies seem to be in fashion with sparkles in the lead.

Pink, pink sparkles glued to horse teeth with the hay getting burnt in the middle as they dance their tiki dances around, making their mouth into ideal ‘o’s and waiting for the birds to bring worms into their starving stomachs into the whole leaking with dark oil paint in the middle of their abdomen, so big that if could suck everything inside to let heads wander outside and ask where I’m I?

In the fucking stomach of those pop idols with their reeking Hollywood teeth.

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Please Do Swallow

It’s a swift motion with the cock up and down up to the point that I don’t recall by the end of the day what do I suck and what I inhale and I watch myself touching to the flicking channels from my fingers as I inhale and exhale.

I watch the smoke, touching myself to it and grinning, sometimes giving out a laugh as the cock gets harder and how soft it goes if there is a speech or some ad and how it grins at all of the ladies’ teeth and just wants to leak in their insides.

It’s thrilling how fast we want to go in, leave a trace and go outside.

So I touch myself, stroking my balls and then taking off my shirt.

I let my cock kiss the couch and I laugh more looking at the laughing ceiling.

And then I drop it to look at a female singer and I just leave my cock hanging and my cigarette leaving the scent in the room and I realize I miss her, so I just touch the tip of my cock and I take the finger off a little spider string going from my genitalia to my finger until it breaks and I repeat it, worried, nervous, as I watch her speak.

I stand up, a bit shaking and I press my cock against the screen, directly in front of her mouth so that every letter on which she closes her mouth is a suck and I moan back, knowing how her mouth feels.

I go down on myself, I wonder why couldn’t I self suck, but I just tease the base of my cock until I start stroking it harder, aiming at her mouth.

She swallows.

And I think I can hold a gun to my head.

Just to see the screen.

And so that the sperm will mix with the blood and they will plaster the screen and so that no one will see who did I touch myself to, besides Courtney who knows it and who I call instead on the phone and do touch myself to with the cigarette being the isolator with its smoke.


As requested by an anon. I hope you liked it, it's a lot shorter than expected, but I like it this way, sorry about that.

Feel free to request

<3 Two inhaling old ladies