Thursday, 15 May 2014

get down on your knees in the tunnel of love

I wake up and I wonder where has my life gone, why have all the decisions I’ve done long gone, there’s just the small traces left in the wood, there’s not even ash and I start thinking that it just might still be in my head.

The worries I’ve got sometimes seem small but around a bunch of couples and people divorcing, marrying and drinking the question is always


brought up again and when you’re single you start ruffling through your exes, I don’t even need a damn drink in my hand, I just have to cross the floor, kick the rug and raid through the vinyls to find the most used ones and wonder if the cigarette smell on them is my own or his.


It digs into my mind, just like I traces I don’t see, maybe I don’t even see them in my mind anymore. 

It’s not even that I don’t know his number anymore, I damn well know his number, it had been done as a joke in case I’d lose the phone and once I used it to call Jamie from a payphone, instantly regretting it while checking out all the hot strippers I could hire in my area, but that just made the number blaze in my mind.

There’s no point deleting something the mind can’t hide. 

We all believe in the illusion that we are still loved. 

It’s not that I can’t find people who resemble him, but they make me cringe because I get angry because they can’t do the things that he does and they can’t even dump me like he did, it’s like I wish I could get stuck in time and let myself slide deeper into the mattress as he leaves, fucking thinking that he loves me.

Jealousy and mistakes seem to run like salt through my fingers, fear becomes the steering wheel of fortune which seems to have blind desire as a diamond handle. 

The frustration plays on me like a violin, it seems to make me want to keep sketching lines on a piece of paper when my eyes are already rolling back, some tense anxiety pulling me by the elbows as I keep thinking of all the lovers who had chosen a gender opposite of mine and it gets even more frustrating when you think, bowing on the stage,

of your own ambiguous identity and how fluid it is, how unprecise compared to a lit cigarette and a fan always giving you tooth ache yet never beating the heat of the well powdered room. 

It’s the frustration, the fucking frustration of the first love even when it’s not the first. Jamie had screamed that at me, when we were both alone in the auditorium, he keeps shattering me and I keep finding his new number to dial only for him to realize who it is to block me again. 

I will never say to his face the anxiety he brings, because once I see him, it’s an injection, an instant relief with the pain attached to the needle once it pierces the peel of the skin. And the anxiety seems to ride me as the ticket seems to be beside me and already covered in my sweat, my eyes feeling diluted, watery, far too washed down to understand what’s going on as I slowly start dressing myself up to be the faceless giant of the crowd to be watching him, move his fingers on the neck of the guitar and plead that he would see me. 

I think I’m the flutist, who stole the flute from the lover and who people don’t want to listen to. 

It feels like dressing up to a date which I know will not attend, everything seems to strangle me as my fingers shake as I think of eyeliner but instead I just bite my lips and slowly start applying gray eyeshadow to my eyelids, shaking and fixing it with my fingers nervously all the time, watching my reflection as if I could see my hair grow in this small fragment of time. 

The biggest fall is your own when you look at your reflection, it’s not that you don’t recognize yourself, it’s that you know yourself too damned well, you know that the wrinkles are him tracing the knife upon my forehead, giving me the disgusting migraines, pushing me further to collpase onto my own operating table, already the autopsy done on the living body, the cuts to open and examine but doctor Jamie isn’t here. 

And I don’t even have the nurses.

It doesn’t rain as I get into the venue. Some people recognize me and I just quickly sign and get back in the end of the queue, until someone spots me and yanks me forward which leads me to many people who are much younger than me and Jamie will ever be in our bodies and they seem to destroy us with their presence, sinking Jamie in an illusion of love and granting me anonymity. 

And he emerges on stage, all eyes on Alison thankfully and I feel like I’m the only one with the real feast, recognizing his silhouette more than anyone, heard his muffled moans plenty times under my own mouth, felt his sweat originate, felt him pull me over the edge, felt his hands trailing down my skin, felt his hands around my neck, chocking, his pleading, his taste, his eyes fluttering shut, his exhale and the whole essence of his release. 

Love seems to wash over me, as if he’s looking at me again, a piercing yet soft stare like a post-sex kiss, lukewarm and shattering to build up strength again and once more later. It’s odd when you see someone who you love with your entire being, it’s always the same feeling only it’s covered in different layers, which cover you either with desire or anxiety of seeing them and right now, I’m not so sure anymore because I’m open to observe him, because I know that he doesn’t see me even when I get spilled with beer and I don’t even flinch, I only move closer to the stage, but never close enough, but I know I’ve seen more of him than all this room combined and Alison who has the same fate of on and off as I’ve had and I can only say that I have some advantage which she doesn’t have. 

I wonder if she knows, but it seems ridiculous if she wouldn’t know. 

I keep watching as they both seem to be putting fingers in each other’s mouth when the other isn’t watching and we all follow their endless tension which never breaks, an endless triumph of flirtation which tempts them both and keeps their careers going, allowing the blind lie that love between men and women exist. It’s too socially constructed and unreal to actually exist even if sometimes the bond develops, it still has too much accessibility and no fight which you should do for love. And when there was no fight, it still didn’t exist besides for recreation at least in my belief because the history you get fed is surely not real. 

The music seems to turn into vacuum noise sometimes, his own vision colliding with mine and for a split second, just like anyone in the audience I hope I am the selfish reason of his note split and I keep watching, his music tearing me apart as I wonder if any phrases were written about me, how much were my love knocking on his door and how many had opened his mind at least for a few seconds, a fair share of my misery shared with him at least for a while, at least some weight of lost love would lay on his shoulders. 

The closer it gets to the end, when everyone’s sweat seems to be mass produced and the air stale and all beer spilt and everyone’s voice gone and they’re gone for the encore I can feel my blood pressure rising, my teeth shattering under my own tension, my fingertips feeling like some fabric pulled by all edges, as strong as a string, pulsing and they emerge and song by song I feel the ground start falling after my feet, I can’t help but glance around just to give myself the illusion that I’m not here but I still hear his guitar strumming, I still hear how he shifts pedals and I can just wrap myself under the illusion of Alison’s singing. 

Then Alison’s illusion and the curtains fall, revealing both of them not as God anymore but as my ex and his on and off girlfriend as they leave and people start slowly and I wait until the crowd sucks itself out and I slowly make my wait, too anxious to even buy water as I see someone also dragging themselves slower and I just walk even slower, some anxious decision to be last as I still need to catch him when everyone’s gone, to avoid people talking and to let myself be shot under the fire with the wounds open and not to be treated. 

I smoke two cigarettes one after another as I wait, all my bets placed on recognition as I slowly make my way, I’m sure my lips are blue and I just hug myself as I start hearing the bouncers discuss as I approach, they wave me over and I put on a fake smile, nodding, thankful for my own fame which I’ve stolen many years ago from Jamie and soon enough I’m in, letting a few fans out who seem to dazzled by the two star personas and I get in and I try the dressing room and it’s locked and I just hear voices from the small common room as I wait in the corridor, fidgeting with my hands, breathing heavier with each second as I try to calm myself down as my teeth start chattering and I try to pull the door of the dressing room, afraid to out myself to anyone besides Jamie. Maybe I should’ve bought a gift. I start panicking and I wonder what should I do as I keep glancing and the desire to leave seems to suffocating me and desire to hide myself somewhere seems to emerge, as I don’t feel like seeing anyone, even not sure I want to see the man himself. 

Then I see Alison emerge, already a cigarette between her lips, slowly fiddling and itching with the lighter as she sees me and smiles, giving a soft wave. 

“Hey.” She says to me, before turning back to the common room as it quiets a bit. “Hey, Jamie, Brian’s here.” 

I hear his silence. I’m sure he holds himself and soon I hear heels against the floor and soon enough he emerges, vest undone and scarf loosen and wine in hand. Alison just proceeds to leave the venue, humming after a successful concert as Jamie just looks at me before downing the wine, closing his eyes, maybe praying to the devil which brought me to take me away. 

“Look-” I start.

His eyes snap open and he takes out the keys from his pocket and he opens the dressing room silently, some regret showing up on his face, Jamie cringes but lets me in anyway. 

It’s not even that I feel naked, it’s the blind desire of me wishing that he’d pin me down, that he’d kiss me again, that he’d let himself loose, that I’d feel his tongue eager against my own, our clothes becoming something unnecessary, some burning desire consuming us, but what I expected is the thing which dawns on me, Jamie putting the glass down, looking at himself in the mirror before glancing back at me as if I am a devil which maybe won’t be seen in the reality of a mirror. But I see his broken look which a mirror can evilly reflect and I feel myself slowly unraveling, knowing all the pain I’ve caused. 

“What do you want?” And I know he has no patience as he turns around, his knuckles clenched and white. I can’t even speak up and he doesn’t move, my whole anxiety swallowing me into a hole as I can’t even ask myself what do I truly want. He still looks the same and also the glare he gives me has the same tired feel, because I just kept fucking things up one after another, the fear moving my hands and my own desire for Stefan making everything worse and because both me and Stefan were taken, we had the illusion that it was alright, but it wasn’t. 

I don’t know.

I honestly don’t know what to say, as I keep looking at him, Jamie not loosening, instead he tenses up even more and he looks the same, maybe needs his hair hair ruffled a bit. I glance backwards towards the door and I wonder how much do other people actually know about Jamie, but I’m sure maybe on the first tour while driving, eyes firmly looking ahead he just told Alison about his life, making sure that I would never be in the biography, to make his memories more artistic, he removed the sting from the bee which is already dead anyway. 

“You.” My mouth dries as I speak and he just looks down.


Ok, I literally had Callie hit me numerously with pillows for the ending of this chapter and I spent 30 minutes trying to get a title and I did XD yay XD at 6.30 am. Anyway

Funnily enough this story was initially and actually an Alexa Chung/Alex Turner but I got really ticked off at her sex-shaming, skinny culture to a gross extent that people starve themselves to look like someone who dresses worse than I would at high school when I had to look formal, shallow and pretty much fucking triggers me. So I dropped the request but I liked where this story was pretty much going and also Alexa's IT is the grosses thing ever and I've never been so ticked off and in general my hatred for that fucking piece of stapled paper seems to inspire me to write stuff xD and I looked at this story and I was like someone who is crying into a granola bar because they have a nice haircut because they think they got dumped for not being girly enough does not deserve this story and I had gotten her wrong.

So this thing pretty much was left for quite a while and I had wanted to write some other side of the heartbreak and I was thinking about writing something from Brian's point of view and pretty much now it's close to 2.5 k and it had just maybe 200 when it was about  Miss Shallow Granola (I'm sleepy and I hate people who shame me in any way, so I'm spitting this out) so yeah.

Also a big inspiration had been the fact that Brian went quite a few times to see Jamie live as The Kills and in general I can go on for hours on the evidence I've raided enough to prove that they dated. 

I actually stopped writing for a while, struggling what would Brian actually say and yeah, there it is and I'm off to think about it, but I know where it would go now and I kind of want it opposite to PDD as I kind of still… ship them heavily pretty much xD I love them together, my dear doomed OTP xD 

Ok, with the title it was awful because my original was You'll Die Here which echoes with You're Not Coming Back Again at least seemed to Callie and then I started watching a few Jamie interview to see if I could scrap something off and I ended up to use it for the Blue/Jacket prequel XD which is the Alex Turner/Julian Casablancas story which should be published in the next few days xD (it's much over 2k already :) ) and I dunno why but I recalled the sleeve of Tunnel of Love, gave it a listen and the line which is the title pretty much stuck to my head, as being an insane believer in Jamie's closet and Brian/Jamie it stuck out to me and I was fiddling with calling it Tunnel of Love, or Tunnel is Love which seemed nice but I figured that frankly no one really knows Scarfo unfortunately so I figured to shed some light on this lovely line so yeah:3

Also check out Blyth Power to see a dancing Jamie in dreadlocks. Best shit ever. Makes my day. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and I'm fucking tired and I wanted this up and yeah, I love those two morons to bits and I fucking want to see a photo of them when they were dating preferably when Jamie had dyed blonde hair so that I'll have like a matching favourite photo of fetus Jamie to the dreadlocked Jamie videos XD 

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please tell me so and then we can both cry that they were perfect together. 



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