Monday, 22 December 2014

And it's a dull Monday

It’s when you do one of those lists and you stop laughing for more than one second even on the whole process not even because I didn’t delete him, it’s because I would know he would be there and we kept it if our stuff was ever scattered and I wondered if it had even reached him or rather what had I been doing now, throbbing with all these ghosts of the past, clicking photos and I had already gone through some painful exes who had kept asking me with who I were but when you’re infatuated with an idea you hold it.
I wanted something a tad revolting and the biggest breaks are the worst because it’s dreaded and him having a W made it even easier to avoid, I could lie to myself that it would’ve solely been it, you know? I wouldn’t able to get that far down, I would have managed to get the most pregnant of silences, taken photos of old mates with hair fully bleached out with their brain, just laughed at asking old friends over, but some things just get scary and of course it was going to be done via Facebook.
I sent it and waited, those were the rules, wait a few days, do something else it wasn’t as if I would take more photos plus I needed to send out the ordered prints.
It’s as if my loneliness now had a name.
He doesn’t slap me with a kiss, which is a thrill of sheer luck of expecting once you see an ex and my own reminder that I need to get laid even if recently I feel like I’ve planted all of the amazon again if PornHub actually plants those trees. Instead he quickly smiles, as if preparing, then quickly hugs himself as if to ease down, before we go in the queue. I can’t stop staring at him at how his curls are entirely gone and how he just holds him hands in his pockets, before scratching an eyebrow. Maybe there is nothing else to say.
I didn’t even expect him to even answer but with all the throwing of long lost items of clothing in each other’s suitcases he probably presumed I had found something I hadn’t wanted and it was as if he were to ask if now it was him who I had forgotten and time travels upwards, we’re here, we’re queer and we don’t even want to speak and I’m sure the camera caught all the insignificant of a breakup, his bitter smile, confusion and tense shoulders, that was all I needed.
I wanted to expose my life, maybe because I was dying in a sense, we all are. I still checked him out, time makes me forgiving and later I had gone to date and rumbled around to actually wonder why hadn’t we opened up our relationship and how come we never tried anything more civil and he would yell at me because I got angry that he chose a woman over me. It falls under my ex went for someone blond, I hate blondes it’s illogical and it’s an asylum for hatred. I just hated that there was someone else, that I wasn’t enough and that we took months to move out, sell the place an find other places.
My hands shake as I type in the pin code and Jack just nods, as if he were reassuring me about something but then looks away, wondering how an old person becomes an old habit.
I’m alone and so is he, his crumbled marriage went across with words and his lovers were for all to see and feel, all seemed similar and all seemed to be women, then he dated some men, women, his list of people was always longer than mine, I would get drunk, he’d get laid. I still had my disasters, but at least I’m not the culprit of each and the talk which follows holds no photos for the exhibition, yet I clutch to the camera in hand, before shoving it into my tote bag, putting it with me, as we sit. I don’t even bother to take off my leather jacket, Jack just trying to look past me, before we lock eyes.

It’s odd to think how far we go back, that we had been that one high school sweetheart couple which everyone thought would last, that we had thought we were just experimenting when frankly Jack could’ve gotten laid easily and still does, looking back we’d even be the subject of porn, two straight guys who would deep throat on the first go. It was odd to imagine that we denied our sexuality and would fuck each other, experimenting, saying what we had wanted to try in the dark until school ended, we enrolled in university and it seemed more than obvious to both of us after three years of fucking each other in a boarding school, that perhaps we were a couple indeed and we were gay. So we had went through institutions, houses, jobs and everything only to have everything crumble eventually. It was as if what we thought would’ve happened in the first year happened, Jack had found himself some girl, only now it was different with me sitting with a pen, a photo shoot to start later in the day wondering where to seat people before the invitations to the wedding were even sent off.

If you’re not the one whose feelings withered, they never will and with every little break up the lost love has, hope is given. And neither do I want to be alone, my hands shake as I carry my coffee, wondering if this place is a tomb of his ex-wife since I would always see her with a cup of coffee from here. It seemed cliche to do it here but then you can see who gives into consumerism and who doesn’t, who knows what to order and who doesn’t. I fucking do apparently, twenty people below. I wonder if it would’ve been different if I hadn’t known his ex-wife who seems to try and see if she can do something herself, but I have seen her slowly fade out and her photography soon to be forgotten hopefully, you never like people who you were told were better than you.

Would Jack be one of them?

“Do you come with some specific list of questions, Jamie?” I feel as if I am injected electricity with some lost memories of how his tongue feels once he says my name, pinned down, angry or even leaving, with a small nod and boxes or calling my name out for the first time, still feeling foreign, years and years ago. When there are many years to forget it gets worse to build new memories, as if there is a server overload. As if we had both ran out of film or forgotten how cumbersome it was to be in the same room. It feels odd, as if all the anger had decided to come back to me, with all the waiting once he and Alison divorced, everyone had started telling me that Jack was constantly talking about me and the more I would throw the ball against the ceiling the more desire would crash, love unresolved would nag deeper and deeper in my knees, feeling the same love as if I had been falling in love for the first time again.

It would start getting worse, the hope and rereading the not ripped love letters, as if they gained a purpose and by convincing myself I would tell myself, that I wasn’t alone, that if I hadn’t changed, nor had he. 

Anger seemed to be a forgotten lollypop, I was sucking on it viciously. I had too many feelings and turmoil, as he just took out his phone, as I sighed, opening the coffee lid to blow on the steam, watching him text back.

“Sorry, my girlfriend wasn’t too happy meeting my ex-fiancé.” He mutters and I just straighten my back. Never a moment single. 

“Oh.” I snap. I take a sip, it doesn’t matter that it burns my throat, he burns it even more. “Of course.”

I tap my fingers on the table.

“Not with the ex-wife, but with the bloke ex-fiancé-”

“Jamie, it’s not that-”

“Yeah, ‘course.” I would leave, but the only excuse to stay is the fact that I do have to at least finish drinking the coffee even if I want this all to end in a way that I leave to be greeted by my dog, confused why hadn’t I taken him with me, Jack a long forgotten puppy memory. At least we hadn’t adopted anyone at the time. I was always confused how come he never got children with Alison, since he always told me once we tied the knot we should begin an adoption process. I think maybe once it runs its course there is solely nothing to speak about and I can see how we have both aged and resorted to hair dye. His hair is now much shorter and better built than we had first laid together, letting out thoughts wrap the confusion around our lips and believe that there had been something fated between us.

I recall how we would stay up until no stars would shine and the clouds would be the mirrors in the woods. We had gone everywhere, sneaking off campus and wondering how much more had we missed as everything seemed to be dissolving like a badly made rope, we seemed to unthread and I could no longer feel when he had touched me only to find out from Alison’s own mouth that she had been fucking Jack and she wanted me to tell, since Jack didn’t want to and I had thrown the dinner plate at him, asking what the fuck was holding him if the love was no longer an attractive withering rose, the water was all drained and there was not even blood left on the floor. There was just his empty reflection, no apology and slow packing of bags as I had smoked outside, waiting for hours, not even crying, buying cigarette pack after another, walking in circles, allowing Archie to digest that Jack would no longer be. 

I feel like a reminder of what I once used to be is upon me, from meeting all people, from saying how much it had been made because it was just another project and people want to see their faces on photos and it seemed something interesting and I wondered if I had wanted me and Jack for everyone to see. It seemed awful, the whole thought and I kept drinking as Jack kept watching me, leaning in lightly.

“So, how have you been?”



Unforgiven to myself? And I had that written on the walls, sometimes just sitting on the floor, petting Archie and wondering how much would actually tip me over that the fear of death would surpass and actually allow me to leave everything with Archie becoming a sole dog to eat my flesh. 

You don’t admit to a former lover that you’re so lonely that even the ghosts of the pasts seem like a solution to keep one alive, when photos become mechanic to tell stories of others because yours is only a step away from death and a trip to someone else’s numbs reality better than any valium. 


I think I'm following the theme of being annoyed at writer's stating that they are against fanfiction, when they base things off real events (*cough* Poppy Z. Brite *cough*). In general I was in a rather depressed mood, I guess with all my life being a horrid turmoil, I have to admit that I just lost faith in people, so if I'm bombarding your inbox I'm honestly trying to get back in touch, communicate and have friends, I guess. I've just been rather torn since the parcel incident and yeah, I have to get back on track and I do like people and regain trust, so if you ever wanted to talk to me, I'm more than happy too and trust me I'm awfully cumbersome and awkward xD

Anyway, this idea sprouted to me as I was going through note-worthy tumblr blogs and I dunno if you've heard of it, but has a good idea, but obviously just like anything in the world it's through cishet eyes as far as I got to see, so I just scrolled a bit, intrigued by the idea, but I honestly expose no interest in cishet worlds, so I was solely interested in the idea. What I found interesting is that well, classic trope of meeting with the ex and I liked the approach and I just got sad that I couldn't find anything gay similar to that, so I started writing, fanfiction as I tend to do, making it a Jack/Jamie. But it's an interesting blog and I still check it, just that… it's rather alien from me and something shoved in my face and the idea is cool, I've seen it before, so of course, here's the credit and I hope all goes well there.

I've been awfully ticked off with tumblr and people, so I think I speak of it more than anything. I just hate how ignorant the world is and frankly blind. I also got depressed that Ultraviolence is going unnoticed when after Blood Pressure's it's surely the best album the '10 have given us and I believe will give us (*nudging Kills to do something*). 

I think December is an odd month for me because I had beginnings and endings of relationships and for some reason since I seem to be talking to people about break-ups I recalled my first every break up and how drained it had left me. I had kept in touch with said ex for quite a number of years and we would meet up. I'll go on it in more detail, as I go through the chapter. In general I just wish we had less accents on women, I'm frankly tired of seeing In The Flesh is good because of Jem Walker, not because of the queer couple, but the fucking cishet women and I was going to finish Disaster today, but then I was like… fuck this, we need more gay men and here I am. I hate so many things, like many assume that if I bash Minaj I'm racist, if I bash Minaj, I'm sexist, when it's frankly due to transphobia. What you honestly expect me to keep my mouth shut when someone says I'm not a real man for not having a penis? And being POC is not your golden immunity. It revolts me and sometimes I just want toe top caring and write, hoping that fiction is enough. I don't feel enough, I'm functioning, but my mental state isn't too good because I keep getting yelled that I mean nothing. I am someone, yet because I'm a transman I'm erased for the sake of people who only sing transphobic songs and empower women. With what? Empower with transphobia?

I feel like I speak very loudly with my fiction, more than I would in the backstory so I focus more on what I had felt rather than what inspired me or explaining these days. I hope that's a good thing. 

I dunno, old habits die hard and I guess a lot of this story was based off as I ended up writing how me and said ex would meet, the awkwardness and when I had found out that he had broken up with the girl he had left me for, I was just rather angry and I had wanted him back. It was an awful disaster and I'll see I think I'll use it on for later:)

I guess just like many, maybe because I started like that, but it's nice to discover who you are with someone else, even in the deepest denial, so I had that and I used that. I had that a few times since I'm fluid both sexuality and gender-wise:) gender and sexuality are rather hard to discover so here we are xD

It's odd when an ex says your name, it's like an old drug injection, not too pleasant well if the ex is an asshole of course:)

Alison is always with a Starbucks takeaway, so yeah. I just wanted her as Jack's ex as I really like Karen and still ship them quietly, another doomed OTP of mine xD she has a lovely instagram by the way xD

I just binged through and I hope you enjoyed it and please please tell me if you did, title explained later:)



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