Tuesday, 8 April 2014

PDD or Hypoxyphilia

Sometimes love submerges you, immerses you fully underwater, giving a sense of no gravity, just floating, your entire body numb and pulsing because you’re drowning and only when you get yanked out, you realize with the beloved by your side

that there is a reason you need oxygen, the lungs desperately praying for air, coughing loudly, the whole body burnt and all which is needed is soothing.

I burst out laughing on the floor, cigarette in my head, alcohol not yet clung to me enough to be drunk yet I pretend to be, not enough booze until someone new comes in with a bottle because all else was drained. 

Would that make me a child of the world? That sometimes I care and sometimes I don’t immersed too deep within me not to care about politics, eyes desperately shut as someone comes in and I hear the heels click besides me and even give me a small shove. I don’t open my eyes. All I do is breathe out smoke. 

The problem about heartbreak is that you have to move on, otherwise you’ll end up milking yourself away when there’s nothing left inside you, so the action of moving on is simply to forget an asshole who has hurt you for your own benefit, it’s not even that you wanted to move on, it’s that decision done in split of a second, otherwise you’ll be one with vomit in mouth and the ex’s fingers still threading your hair or maybe not, since they weren’t there in the first place. That’s the problem, you yourself know what would happen.
So if I were to relive my entire life, would I regret it? No, I’d just be meaner. 
I feel the heels go next to me and my eyes are closed until the heels are pressed against my cheek and I guess that I just happen to give someone interest. 
Falling in love is when you fall and someone catches you.
A doomed relationship is when they don’t catch you and you just sit up, realizing you were never falling, at most water was dunked above you to give you an illusion if drowning and embarrassment of your own blind choice of spin the bottle. 
I look at him, at how he drags the cigarette and I see the platforms, and I just look up, my cigarette still dragging in my mouth as I see a bloke younger than me, paler and his eyeliner much thinner than my own. I get surprised at how lost he looks, his home hair dye which isn’t better from mine but I’ve learned to do it or pester someone else while getting bored of getting the dye scrubbed in my hair. I get my eyes to look at something else and he nudges me with his boot again. I moan, sitting up, a bit wonky and I just stretch him my cigarette before heading off to the bathroom.
When you see a person for the first time during that split second, the doubt will rise before there will be so much love for you to not be able to dust it off, to see the dirt beneath the love powder. Because when you fall in love, you believe that the split second was the lie, not the love you feel. 
The younger man is outside when I head out, holding as hard as I can on the door handle, a new cigarette lit back in the bathroom and I stretch my hand out, it’s odd to see still sober people and I wonder why hasn’t he been given alcohol and it’s none of my business and as I try to push him away, wondering if I should just head off to sleep in the kitchen since everyone seemed to gather in the living room where I’d sleep, I try to make a turn.

“I like your eyeliner.” He holds a pause and I notice his accent, how high his voice still is and a tremble in his voice, yet a fake smirk to add confidence, a whole bouquet of fear and plunging and I just blink. “How do you do it?”
The question seems odd and off and I just lean against the wall, wanting to rub my eye, but I hold, now of all moments I need to hold the eyeliner intact. I just shrug and I push the door back to the bathroom, my head spinning as I lock the door and he just keeps watching me and I don’t know why I amuse him as I see his shoes, everything far too blurry, so I pull the drawer under the sink out and I grab the first kohl pencil and I motion him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He does, pushing his hair back and he closes his eyes.
I look at his chapped lips. 
My hands shake as I pull the lid off with my teeth and I trace a thicker line on top of his eyelid, I keep tracing, pulling the skin near his eye,my knees trembling from the booze, but my lines are nearly perfect, I’ve done this too many times and on heavier drugs and alcohol. I tilt his face up and his eyes spring open, observing me.
I just close my own, hinting that he should close his, he bites his lips and closes his eyes again as I trace the other eye. When I’m done, I press myself against the wall, opening the drawer to throw the collective kohl inside from whoever had either scrapped off money or stolen it off someone. The younger man stands up and looks at the mirror. 
“Do you think your life is a circus or a theatre?” He asks me and I just take it as some insight which happened to hit the younger man in the head, a thought which lingered too much and he opens the drawer and I see his bitten nails. I keep my silence and he just smiles weakly, to grab a red lipstick and try to apply it on himself as my knees seem to keep rocking me back and forth. “Do you think your life has an audience, which you seek to entertain with you deviance or your intelligence?”
He asks proud of that question and turns around and I see that his lipstick seems to be neatly applied but off and I have this sudden urge as he approaches me, smirking, the bathroom tiny and too many thoughts in my head. 
I’m surprised he didn’t say queerness. 

I’m just drunk. And I actually say that before he presses himself against me and it’s odd to have someone significantly shorter than me. My whole body shivers before it’s burnt against the touch of his and he yanks me by the hair down and he stares at me. I just blink a few times, before he smirks and heads to unlock the door, platforms clicking leaving me to wonder if the air he breathed against me was a interlocked kiss of some genuine fake passion. 
I had a terrible struggle with the title just now, so I'll start with that. I've been really struggling and the fact that I muse in general a lot about people's personal lives maybe even more than I should, I've been discussing how both Alison and Jamie seem to be interested in breath play with all the photo shoots and etc. And while digging out more and more on Brian and Jamie and actually finding the songs written by Brian about Jamie, breath play is also mentioned so I had struggled with how to add that in the title and usually I get a few words and google similar meanings. I was fiddling with oxygen play and breath play, which are the obvious. I ended up on a few and I still couldn't choose a title. 
PDD is I guess, it would be odd because my stories are in general quite personal and well during one of the break ups I was terribly depressed and I wrote a series of poems called PDD which I wonder if I should publish but they are very 'in your face' personal, but it was back when I was blind or rather not knowing who the person really was, so I had hope and I dunno, I'm quite straight forward I guess and frankly I'm very open when it comes to writing, so yeah. So of course I've sulked and I've never really felt the need to break up as I'd always cling to the last, so this was a first and frankly seeing people sulk about people leaving them and being on the other side for once, I actually realize that frankly you're not the asshole if you had to leave. It's odd, because you don't want the person, but you've still got the void, you know? So that's… odd. 
And I kept musing on what to do with those poems and I think I'll just shove them in here somehow eventually, which is a spoiler, but there're quite toned down I believe. And those who know, know and I frankly was out, so yeah. 
Now, what is PDD? It's a cycle which was observed by Bowlby and Robertson as they watched children who were taken away from their primary caregivers. What happens when a child gets taken away is pretty much three stages, called Protest, Despair and Detachment which pretty much match what they are. And I had written three poems to match all those feelings I had been feeling which are in deep contrast to the void I had felt and desire to just forget everything, because I frankly don't understand how sometimes you can't see a bigot through. 
And this piece is pretty much dragged on because I kept having thoughts as I'd see Alexa Chung mourning her relationship with Alex Turner, how he had to move on, thing is you have to, you have to step on your fucking throat, because you don't miss the other person, you just feel this lonely feeling because there's no one to feel that void which had once been filled and the person who was there is not even worth mentioning as harsh as it is. So when I look at Alex, I'm like Jesus, what the fuck did Alexa do, man? 
And I don't really have stories with doomed relationships from the start and I love both Molko and Hince with all my heart and I wanted to write about them in Goldsmiths and the more I kept digging the more pretty much dirt surfaced and interesting facts, like the fact that they actually did date, which is pretty much very well tucked in and hidden. As a former Placebo addict I had no idea and this is literally because I decided to check on both, how did their names intertwine. 
Also I was thinking of calling it Special Needs, which is frankly written about Hince. I'm too tired to throw all the evidence I've found over the past few weeks, but I'm happy if anyone is interested XD but it's fascinating and when you google about Brian you always see that he pretty much sprouted from Scarfo and how he seemed to be a successful copy of Jamie when he was in Scarfo. So I guess the whole idea behind the story is, the italics are Jamie looking back, on a diary and adding personal thoughts through out looking back, when the relationship is long over and you look back at your fond memories and frankly you want to chuck them out, because the person you loved doesn't even exist. 
I think the story speaks for itself a lot, so I guess it's quite personal because usually I hide behind some characters while here I frankly am the grumpy Hince with the bitter memories, so it's interesting to write something raw and personal yet still hold a story and frankly I've never written like fully intending doomed love from the beginning, so this is interesting for sure as I pretty much make sure that my characters usually end up together or I try my best and usually they do, while here, well, everyone knows what happens. 
I hope you really enjoyed this story and I enjoy the format as well and frankly I'm proud of it and please tell me if you enjoyed it and feel free to request the next chapter
also throw me anything you know about Hince and Molko, which I might've missed
Please tell me if you enjoyed it :D

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