“You need therapy.” It’s not the thought of curing the rapist, but instead of getting the blood to be rid of and the bruise to be torn off like a sticker as soon as possible. Back where I come from, domestic assault and him being my brother, made everything simple.
Talking in therapy, it just didn’t matter and no one wants to hear you open up anyway and then you come out as a lesbian and therapy is labelled on the wall of your mental hospital. It’s not fear of therapy, it’s fear of loss of whatever, the drugs are ok. Doesn’t matter how much pills I’d take, the pain would come back even if I’d have to drink it three times a day.
It was a mutual silence among the threads of my head and all the discussion about all the girls, how we would apply make-up to each other in a row and when the lipstick was hard to achieve a perfect kiss would be plastered among the divided chewing love gum.
People wouldn’t listen to me and I’d get irritated, in the end no one talked to my brother, who found me looking at a blonde girl in the street with lust and he had yanked me onto the bed, under the stars and they burned as he penetrated.
I was raped with bruises left, slowly migarting on my body. My body repressed the memories and of him having a wife made me scared for the woman, for all the sex they’d have.
No one would understand what would happen if they had children and they would be raped.
No one cared.
Everyone just hopes the bruises will heal on my cheek and they did once I united my hands in mid air, eyes closed, lips parted and a cock coming on my mouth and fingers teasing my insides. I liked sex besides getting raped. The feeling of paranoia still triggers me and being kicked out for thoughts allowed where I am allowed to think, I was kicked out of school, saying I need therapy for all the mentions to my brother I’d slip.
In the end I started going elsewhere, in my mind, grabbing more books to read, threatening my eyes with their vision. I’d be gone as they kicked me out for saying that the walls inside were crooked and would collapse. I never finished high school, if I’d go outside and say I was a stripper, I’d be a disgarce.
A stripper with money, I’d be a diva.
I am a diva, but it is society who decides how much money of yours they will count, sometimes they just stop halfway.
I never got to stab my brother anywhere and I know that there above in the clouds, there will be rape.
That’s why I got a cat and the orange walks around with one eye blinking around the club, hissing, holding celibacy, because
it’s a fucking cat.
, something where the cat will curl. It’ll nest
with a teeth curled up
I’ll stroke the tooth, sperm bottled up within me, maybe I’d have children if I could, just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean the right woman won’t have the other chromosomes.
, something where the cat will curl. It’ll nest
with a teeth curled up
It’s like the mouth glued by glue and when you open it you feel your lips stretching and everything dividing, being pulled, like being penetrated for the first time so roughly. For a long while I wouldn’t understand penetration, my first days were without sex, I wasn’t a virgin after rape so there was no interest in me to sell, instead I danced, my hair had to be kept long and I’d change wings and wigs. I ended up serving people drinks, both men and women. That’s when I saw homosexuality, women kissing in the club, there was no gay pride, it was just there, women with women were just like heterosexuality. What I liked it then that I had a man asking me to penetrate him, not that everyone was bisexual, penetration was equal, nothing gay about it.
It’s written in books and even with my poor knowledge I can imagine dildos being twosided made from leather or maybe wood. I think dildos were made from wood, they should’ve been.
Scenes from rape still come back to me, as he pinned me down,
homosexuality is just like any other sexuality.
“Bisexuals are fine as long as they come back to us.” He bit a chunk of an apple and then I see him spreading out my vagina, sticking his fingers inside and sliding everything at once. Fisting, still scares me. I haven’t been fisted ever since and if I feel a fourth finger inside, everyone has their boundaries, I just tell them a safeword if it’s too agressive for sex to be called sex, if we have whips upon us, I’d just say something weird like “Radclyffe Hall” and no fisting would come. If I had said Sarah Waters that on the other hand would have been fairly odd, she had fisted a woman in a novel.
It’s fascinating how the characters have sex with the author if you ask me, this is were my nervousness comes with anxiety spilling out, as all phrases are shattered and I might even be shy to say something like cock, not that I am scared but I can still see him smirking and never touching my anus, anal sex being something against heteronormativity, something close to homosexuality.
The thing about heteronormativity would be that all the relations you had with your friends, when you would argue and then never talk again was like sex, it was a relation deeper than you hold with your husbands, women. Get a dildo, fuck your friend, open your mind, accept lesbianism, you are a lesbian.
Every thrust was like a bite of the apple, staring at hazel eyes eating the apple across the room.
I hate men, they can’t love, at least those beyond the walls where I dance, the toilets and the rooms for sex still count, it doesn’t matter if I love men as well sometimes, when I can bend them and I see in their eyes that rape would mean their assholes spread out as well and can be raped by a man and a woman or a woman.
We can all be raped and it shouldn’t be laughed upon in a discussion, like it had been before as if everyone was holding torches in a lighted room, they are the ones who throw the shadows on the cloth.
I love this place, I don’t care who is a woman, who is a man, soon enough our gender will fade, all the dicks and vaginas will just become dancing genitalia and we will all be gay, homosexual, in love with ourselves, the others in the room.
Men outside are like roses when you give them sunlight and not electricty which blends here with the food, they rot too soon and are cheap and cliche, it’s not like I want jewerly. We don’t have any flowers inside her for one reason, we can’t get them from the outside and the only people who grew something were weed and then they called the police once they smoked it all. I recall how the smell circulated for the small while and we had the police go in as I sat on the floor. They checked us all and ended up staying knowing, that they would never find us again.
We’re not like Ibiza with a constant party, we just have food and even beds. You don’t really get tired here, more like if you want to crucify yourself to leave everything, but then that’s another thing. When you get bored of this place and are scared to leave to the outside.
We are just a box with nothing, just a bunch of deviants. I order a hot dog.
“Margaret.” I should say with a full mouth, now she has a black suit.
“Family would be the greatest betrayal of all. Being united with someone whose blood you don’t even share. I got a different blood group.” Margaret takes a bite from my hot dog. Such conversations occur so she hands me the hot dog back and I just put more mustard on my own, seeing shattered eyes of my brother, as I lick my fingers.
“Have you ever thought of leaving this place?” She asks taking off her blonde wig attached to the hat revealing shaved chocolate hair.
“Why? There is a projector.” I finish the hot dog. “We can have an American Wednesday if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“So?”
“So what?” I ask.
“That means today is just a boring day?” She asks me, playing with the salt until she spills some on the floor and lets it hide under her wooden heel.
“More like a boring year.” I raise my hand to get some raspberry drink.
“How old are you?” Margaret asks me, running a hand through her hair and I see some salt getting glued to her hair before she puts on her wig and hat back again to match the other six.
-
I guess my inspirations for Working Mica are David Lynch specifically Twin Peaks with its Black Lodge (I keep seeing as the club a sort of version of the Black Lodge with sex obviously) and Mullholland Drive of course. I quite enjoy David Lynch but recently I've been more into Almodovar if to talk about directors as he deals more with sexuality and Todo Sobre Mi Madre is just beautiful and I went to the cinema to see his new movie.
In general I like toying with the whole idea of immortality which I have used in previous unpublished works and the club deals with such and time in general is a funny thing.
And obviously homophobia is discussed in this case with violence and rape which our world doesn't seem to avoid but rather praises oddly.
I've been writing Working Mica in bits and pieces over the past few months and this chapter is actually two smaller chapters as I like the feel of really long chapters, so this was done.
Hopefully the new chapter will be up soon as it is the next request, so keep checking every day, really :D
And since I've got a massive list, request to get the next chapter as soon as possible XD now that it's summer I have more time and inspiration XD ok, I always have inspiration, all I need is energy and time XD
Also what really gets me off Lynch sometimes is the love pairings, Twin Peaks was awful when it came to that, I was crawling up the wall in pain in season 1, while in Almodovar I ship everyone with everyone.
Also it hasn't been much of an influence lately, but I guess you surely can see Kunihiko Ikuhara everywhere XD Now, that I'm on an adventure to watch everything he has ever done XD oh, yes, and if he ships, he ships it so so hard. So I guess those three can be seen as an influence for Working Mica.
I just wrote this chapter quite a while ago, so yeah, I want to write some backstory and seems that I feel like writing... I should go write something... else XD yeah, like Working Mica 3 XD
ok, I'm off
Thank you and please request
Also if you want a shirt or vans or toms, I'm an artist as well, please don't hesitate to contact me and I can customize something if you're head over heels with Working Mica :D
<3
Jamie
working mica3
Talking in therapy, it just didn’t matter and no one wants to hear you open up anyway and then you come out as a lesbian and therapy is labelled on the wall of your mental hospital. It’s not fear of therapy, it’s fear of loss of whatever, the drugs are ok. Doesn’t matter how much pills I’d take, the pain would come back even if I’d have to drink it three times a day.
It was a mutual silence among the threads of my head and all the discussion about all the girls, how we would apply make-up to each other in a row and when the lipstick was hard to achieve a perfect kiss would be plastered among the divided chewing love gum.
People wouldn’t listen to me and I’d get irritated, in the end no one talked to my brother, who found me looking at a blonde girl in the street with lust and he had yanked me onto the bed, under the stars and they burned as he penetrated.
I was raped with bruises left, slowly migarting on my body. My body repressed the memories and of him having a wife made me scared for the woman, for all the sex they’d have.
No one would understand what would happen if they had children and they would be raped.
No one cared.
Everyone just hopes the bruises will heal on my cheek and they did once I united my hands in mid air, eyes closed, lips parted and a cock coming on my mouth and fingers teasing my insides. I liked sex besides getting raped. The feeling of paranoia still triggers me and being kicked out for thoughts allowed where I am allowed to think, I was kicked out of school, saying I need therapy for all the mentions to my brother I’d slip.
In the end I started going elsewhere, in my mind, grabbing more books to read, threatening my eyes with their vision. I’d be gone as they kicked me out for saying that the walls inside were crooked and would collapse. I never finished high school, if I’d go outside and say I was a stripper, I’d be a disgarce.
A stripper with money, I’d be a diva.
I am a diva, but it is society who decides how much money of yours they will count, sometimes they just stop halfway.
I never got to stab my brother anywhere and I know that there above in the clouds, there will be rape.
That’s why I got a cat and the orange walks around with one eye blinking around the club, hissing, holding celibacy, because
it’s a fucking cat.
, something where the cat will curl. It’ll nest
with a teeth curled up
I’ll stroke the tooth, sperm bottled up within me, maybe I’d have children if I could, just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean the right woman won’t have the other chromosomes.
, something where the cat will curl. It’ll nest
with a teeth curled up
It’s like the mouth glued by glue and when you open it you feel your lips stretching and everything dividing, being pulled, like being penetrated for the first time so roughly. For a long while I wouldn’t understand penetration, my first days were without sex, I wasn’t a virgin after rape so there was no interest in me to sell, instead I danced, my hair had to be kept long and I’d change wings and wigs. I ended up serving people drinks, both men and women. That’s when I saw homosexuality, women kissing in the club, there was no gay pride, it was just there, women with women were just like heterosexuality. What I liked it then that I had a man asking me to penetrate him, not that everyone was bisexual, penetration was equal, nothing gay about it.
It’s written in books and even with my poor knowledge I can imagine dildos being twosided made from leather or maybe wood. I think dildos were made from wood, they should’ve been.
Scenes from rape still come back to me, as he pinned me down,
homosexuality is just like any other sexuality.
“Bisexuals are fine as long as they come back to us.” He bit a chunk of an apple and then I see him spreading out my vagina, sticking his fingers inside and sliding everything at once. Fisting, still scares me. I haven’t been fisted ever since and if I feel a fourth finger inside, everyone has their boundaries, I just tell them a safeword if it’s too agressive for sex to be called sex, if we have whips upon us, I’d just say something weird like “Radclyffe Hall” and no fisting would come. If I had said Sarah Waters that on the other hand would have been fairly odd, she had fisted a woman in a novel.
It’s fascinating how the characters have sex with the author if you ask me, this is were my nervousness comes with anxiety spilling out, as all phrases are shattered and I might even be shy to say something like cock, not that I am scared but I can still see him smirking and never touching my anus, anal sex being something against heteronormativity, something close to homosexuality.
The thing about heteronormativity would be that all the relations you had with your friends, when you would argue and then never talk again was like sex, it was a relation deeper than you hold with your husbands, women. Get a dildo, fuck your friend, open your mind, accept lesbianism, you are a lesbian.
Every thrust was like a bite of the apple, staring at hazel eyes eating the apple across the room.
I hate men, they can’t love, at least those beyond the walls where I dance, the toilets and the rooms for sex still count, it doesn’t matter if I love men as well sometimes, when I can bend them and I see in their eyes that rape would mean their assholes spread out as well and can be raped by a man and a woman or a woman.
We can all be raped and it shouldn’t be laughed upon in a discussion, like it had been before as if everyone was holding torches in a lighted room, they are the ones who throw the shadows on the cloth.
I love this place, I don’t care who is a woman, who is a man, soon enough our gender will fade, all the dicks and vaginas will just become dancing genitalia and we will all be gay, homosexual, in love with ourselves, the others in the room.
Men outside are like roses when you give them sunlight and not electricty which blends here with the food, they rot too soon and are cheap and cliche, it’s not like I want jewerly. We don’t have any flowers inside her for one reason, we can’t get them from the outside and the only people who grew something were weed and then they called the police once they smoked it all. I recall how the smell circulated for the small while and we had the police go in as I sat on the floor. They checked us all and ended up staying knowing, that they would never find us again.
We’re not like Ibiza with a constant party, we just have food and even beds. You don’t really get tired here, more like if you want to crucify yourself to leave everything, but then that’s another thing. When you get bored of this place and are scared to leave to the outside.
We are just a box with nothing, just a bunch of deviants. I order a hot dog.
“Margaret.” I should say with a full mouth, now she has a black suit.
“Family would be the greatest betrayal of all. Being united with someone whose blood you don’t even share. I got a different blood group.” Margaret takes a bite from my hot dog. Such conversations occur so she hands me the hot dog back and I just put more mustard on my own, seeing shattered eyes of my brother, as I lick my fingers.
“Have you ever thought of leaving this place?” She asks taking off her blonde wig attached to the hat revealing shaved chocolate hair.
“Why? There is a projector.” I finish the hot dog. “We can have an American Wednesday if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“So?”
“So what?” I ask.
“That means today is just a boring day?” She asks me, playing with the salt until she spills some on the floor and lets it hide under her wooden heel.
“More like a boring year.” I raise my hand to get some raspberry drink.
“How old are you?” Margaret asks me, running a hand through her hair and I see some salt getting glued to her hair before she puts on her wig and hat back again to match the other six.
-
I guess my inspirations for Working Mica are David Lynch specifically Twin Peaks with its Black Lodge (I keep seeing as the club a sort of version of the Black Lodge with sex obviously) and Mullholland Drive of course. I quite enjoy David Lynch but recently I've been more into Almodovar if to talk about directors as he deals more with sexuality and Todo Sobre Mi Madre is just beautiful and I went to the cinema to see his new movie.
In general I like toying with the whole idea of immortality which I have used in previous unpublished works and the club deals with such and time in general is a funny thing.
And obviously homophobia is discussed in this case with violence and rape which our world doesn't seem to avoid but rather praises oddly.
I've been writing Working Mica in bits and pieces over the past few months and this chapter is actually two smaller chapters as I like the feel of really long chapters, so this was done.
Hopefully the new chapter will be up soon as it is the next request, so keep checking every day, really :D
And since I've got a massive list, request to get the next chapter as soon as possible XD now that it's summer I have more time and inspiration XD ok, I always have inspiration, all I need is energy and time XD
Also what really gets me off Lynch sometimes is the love pairings, Twin Peaks was awful when it came to that, I was crawling up the wall in pain in season 1, while in Almodovar I ship everyone with everyone.
Also it hasn't been much of an influence lately, but I guess you surely can see Kunihiko Ikuhara everywhere XD Now, that I'm on an adventure to watch everything he has ever done XD oh, yes, and if he ships, he ships it so so hard. So I guess those three can be seen as an influence for Working Mica.
I just wrote this chapter quite a while ago, so yeah, I want to write some backstory and seems that I feel like writing... I should go write something... else XD yeah, like Working Mica 3 XD
ok, I'm off
Thank you and please request
Also if you want a shirt or vans or toms, I'm an artist as well, please don't hesitate to contact me and I can customize something if you're head over heels with Working Mica :D
<3
Jamie
working mica3
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